Travellers of the Night
by Alteng
Summary: Alternative versions of Dracula and Carmilla. Twisted humor and romance abound! Please be kind and R&R. You review mine, I will return the favor! Chapter 23 is one of my favs!
1. Default Chapter

A/N: So, this is the big addition to this chapter this time around. When I got this piece editted and whatnot, I lodt the author's note. This piece is based on several things relating to vampires, vampire fiction and movies, folklore, and you name it, it probably in there. I did a lot of research for this story, and it was FUN! Among disclaimeers I owe, this story was originally based off the movie Nosferatu (and, yes, to both of them), many and various versions of Dracula movies (Yeah, yeah, I know that Nosferatu is also a Dracula movie), there are actual elements of the original novel of Dracula, and the short story called "Carmilla" is in this,too. When I came up with the concept for this story, I could not remember how the remake of Nosferatu ran, so, there is some creativity there, too. Then there is just that I am full of it.

Anyway, this much shorter than the original. I hope you will read this piece encourage me to get all the chapters typed into the computer. There are parts of this I am very fond of and proud of. I have completely written this story, and it is typed out on an outdated word processor that is not compatible with the computer.

Also, the genre is general, becauseI have no idea how to classify this. There is a lot of humor here. There is a romance story going on. There is quite a bit of angst, and actually, there are parts that are actually frightening. So, when in doubt, hey make it general.

Chapter 1: The Confession

Limbo

"I should start from the beginning. It is no doubt upon hearing of my repentance, you probably wetted your pants or whatever it is you do in Limbo. Misko is not known for feeling regret over his sins. How could I become the creature that I am today. I was once quite proud of the name I made for myself and my kind. So what if that opinion has changed from time to time. I have never been encouraged to be any other kind of vampire. It is just that I have my hopes and desires. Oh come, you know me. I have always been as constant as my name. I have often wondered myself what I would do next. I am certain you have wondered, too. You have seen through the ages. I know! I know! You have come to gain an understanding of my repentance, and I had better appease you.

"Alright, I will tell you. After my return to vampirism in the sixteenth century, the revenge of my betrayal kept me from my usual depressions until the late 1780s. So I went to Florence, Italy, where all good things have happened to me. I decided to wander around town and act like a normal resident, but even though I acted like I belonged, the Florentines knew different. This kind of thing always happens right before I decide to take a tear into humankind. So, I went to one of my favorite haunts and dug out my maps. Employing my normal procedure, I closed my eyes and let my fingers fall where they may. I came up with Weimar, Germany. Well, it was close enough to Weimar. Come, who has ever heard of Mittengen! So, with much plotting, I finally wrote a letter in 1824 to a young fellow who was familiar with all the paperwork of the time.

"He was a pleasant enough fellow. Something about him was quite intriguing. We exchanged letters on my business and some of his personal business. I do not know why anyone would impart to me the specific date of his wedding, but, of course, he really did not know who I was at the time. He certainly did not know my special profession. So, one does not brag about such a profession to a potential victim. Yes, I can see it now, 'Dear sir, I would like to invade you town, kill everyone with the Black Death, and create a small following!'

"I know. Get on with it! Well, the young man came to Florence, and I eagerly met him. He was an even kinder man in person. Even though he was quite nervous of me at first, he kept his composure and his kindness. It is not that I did not give him good reason to think me creepy. I guess, if I had put my mind to it and tried harder, I could have been much more creepy, but I figured that making him a vampire was enough.

"Maybe leaving it at that would have been sufficient nastiness. A few convincing words to him, I would have remained happy with a great decrease in my destructiveness, but my missions of old taunted me onward, and some honest threats from my soon to be vampire companion convinced me that I had to destroy Weimar. The death of his friends and family would make the transition easier than their rejection, and I can be quite creative at making a whole new tale of reality. Anyway, it gave me a good excuse to check out a woman who had come into my dreams. She was quite exceptional, especially since she broke through my vampiric slumber! So, I could follow up on my curiosity, destroy Weimar, and keep my good name!

"Yes, I know, I do not sound very repentant for what I did. I am certain that all your scribbling has to do with the how best and most creative way I should be tortured for the rest of eternity. I am only telling you how I felt at the time and, well, this is the third time I have stood before you. After you have died once, most of the terror is gone. My repentance comes because of this lovely lady. I was not very sorry for what I was doing to Weimar. But, let me continue my story.

"After taking total control of Jonathan's mind, I decided to send him home to cause some destruction of his own. I decided to go in search of this lady, who had the power to break my slumber. Well, as fate had it, as so often she has done to me, my vampire companion and I turned up at the same house. I found out that the woman I thought I had waited for since the vision in 1348, had just recently married my companion. After several appropriate Italian curses upon my foul luck, I watched from the shadows to see what would happen to my companion. I made Jonathan be violent and hateful, but she coped with him. With some inventive help, she overcame him. Once unconscious, he was treated in such a gentle manner, that I cannot explain it, but envy was all mine. If I had acted in such a manner to my family, I would not have lived to see the next day. No, I had to find a sneakier way. My dear lady figured that my vampire companion was under some kind of illness, and she was going to tend to him. My family just knew me too well.

"She sat up with him and held his hand. I wanted to cry out to her. I wanted to tell her my pain, and I knew she would have listened. I plotted out so many ways to get my wish, but I could not bear to face her rejection.

"At some point in the night, Jonathan woke. I fought down the efforts to free his mind. I won out and held him still and silent. During his struggles, the dear lady discovered his vampirism. I forced him to hiss and spit at her and finally make an attack on her, but he rather ended up unconscious again. His will was quite strong against my control, but a couple of trips and falls and cracks on the head would still knock him out. I should have had him run instead of allowing her to have her discovery. I needed her to hate him, or maybe I needed her to accept the vampirism. I could not let her kill him. Yet, I dragged my feet. I wanted to see her reaction. She stayed away from him for a little while, but she regained her courage. She cautiously moved towards him. She knelt beside him and wept quietly. She brushed the hair from his face and made a vow that she would destroy his inflictor. What would I have done if someone had said the same for me? I know what I am is what I made myself, but I do dream. Taking salt, a weak but quite effective barrier between human and vampire, she encircled him with it. I could not force him to cross the barrier, but I could still control him. The barrier limited his movements, but it also protected him from the sunlight. She bowed and kissed his forehead.

"I choked. Fear kept me from speaking to her. How could she care so much? How could she defeat the old hatred? I watched her for the rest of the night. When dawn approached, I forced myself back to my resting place.

"Before my slumber, I appeared in Jonathan's mind. I tried to understand his happy experiences and share in them. I bombarded him with a flood of questions. He would not answer my questions, and he shielded his experiences from me. I withdrew. I came into his wife's dreams, but her fear was too great. I went to my soil with strangely wet cheeks. I did not understand what was wrong with me. Why should I weep over rejection and fear? It was something I had always tried to achieve.

"I woke from my slumber with the half desire not to wake, but then I remembered that I could go back and see her again. I watched her with bright wide eyes. I wanted to speak to her, but I was content to just watch her and keep what I had. I continued my joyous routine for two weeks, when one night she did something different. She held Jonathan by his shoulders and demanded me to let him be and come forward to her. I swallowed hard and deep.

"With a bit of an argument with myself, I appeared before Jonathan. I wanted to kiss him for making this passageway possible, but I could not cross the circle of salt anymore than he could. I knelt before him and whispered all of my thanks, and then I appeared in Lucy's room. She cried out and shrank back from me. After a few well chosen hesitant word from me, she calmed down. She swallowed hard and offered up her neck.

"I choked at the sudden offer. I insisted upon my vast amount of questions to be answered, and I wanted her to ask questions of me. She asked very little. I tried to answer her questions, but I could not give a satisfactory answer. I did not know my answer. She answered my many and various questions. I repeated myself a couple of times, but I was not used to an attentive listener. My soul was so high and full, that she had no need to offer her blood. She already owned me. The Black Death had ended at my silent mental command. She insisted upon the bite. I shuddered, but she touched my wet cheek and urged me on with her soft words. I gazed at her for a long time. She smiled at me. What would I have done had I known her when I was mortal? I was already to suffer what I must to right my wrongs. She wanted me to suffer.

"Even though she told me that Jonathan was nothing, I wished to ease her concerns for him and make her happier. All I wanted was a bit of what she had given him, even if she called it nothing. Maybe the three of us could have worked out something. I could not take her away from him. He needed her. If I could just watch over them and receive a reply when I spoke to them, I would remain content. Maybe they could teach me to be approved by them. I was a good learner.

"So, at last, I led her to her bed and make her lay down, since I did not wish her to fall once I had bitten her. I bowed my head to her neck. Although I had done many of the things that she had wanted me to do, I could not release Jonathan just yet. He would not approve of my biting his wife, and I know I could not convince him to do it himself. I needed for all three of us to be vampires for my plan to work. On my knees, I glanced at her trembling body. I spoke softly to her and told her that she had nothing to fear. I meant her no harm. I stroked her dark hair and gazed into her beautiful green eyes. Yes, I knew she was the one I waited for, even though I remember her eyes were grey and her hair light. I was sick at the time, what did I know. I knelt my head and placed a kiss where I intended my fangs to be. I pulled back and clutched my arms. I could not believe that all the suffering would soon be over. My heart pounded in my throat. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I told her in a soft whisper that I was going to bite her. She bit her lips and trembled harder, but she pulled me to her. I exposed my fangs and pierced her flesh. A shock of pain ran through her body, but still she held me. I took her blood to my eagerly waiting throat.

"As I consumed her blood I felt the anguish of her soul over the terrible things I had done. She held back a strong overpowering hatred. I tried to hold back the tears. She could not hate me. She had been far too kind to hate me. I must have touched something different. She hated the pain I had caused. I regretted my existence. I vowed never to harm anyone out of the pure joy of creating pain. I could never spread the horrid Black Death again. I could convince myself to never create another unwilling vampire again. I would make Jonathan's existence the best that I could. Perhaps I could convince him to actually like this existence. I did not give him much of a chance. He was far too young to die and suffer Hell. He really did not deserve damnation. No one I have damned deserved it. No one deserved the misery I caused. I hated myself stronger than I have ever done. I cried so hard at what I had begun, that I could not take her blood properly. I was hurting her. I pulled away. I had never done that before without finishing out the bite first. I never had cared how bad my victims had hated me. Somehow, I thought Jonathan would eventually feel differently about the vampirism.

"Weakly, she stroked my shoulder. She pulled me to her, as I heavily cried. I begged her forgiveness. I begged divine forgiveness. I swore with all my heart to right what I had done. I wanted to be worthy of her care. I wanted to be worthy enough to live. I continued to cry as she patted my back. At last, I pulled from her. I had to finish out my bite. I returned my fangs to her neck. The fear was not so strong. I drank her blood strongly, although I still felt the shame and the hatred. I knew I would make her proud of me, and someday I would deserve her affection.

"I finished out my bite. I stared quietly at her for a little while longer, while her consciousness slipped away. I pulled the covers over her. I placed a terrible clawed hand on her cheek. My heart was full, and it would remain that way for the next night and who knows how many more. No more loneliness! It was almost more than I could imagine. My hand burned. The sun had come. I pulled my hand away. The bright glorious light touched my eyes for the moment it was allowed. I cried out as I dissolved to dust on the floor beside her bed. All my hopes and plans for the future were destroyed. That gives you an explanation of my tears when I arrived here.

"Now, you have heard my story. You know I speak true, although I am full of it, because you could always force the truth out of me if I intentionally strayed. My vows and promises were not meant for the existence of this trial, but if you offer me another chance, I will prove good to my word. You might find my attempts amusing. The only thing that I ask is that you free Jonathan of the curse. I would give anything to have him by my side, . . . but well, I know, he does not deserve this life, and I should be good on my own. Please, my lord Minos, have mercy on us."

"It is true. You have been one of the most evil beings known to the world. You have lived up to what you were meant to be. This time things are different. The old dormant side of you has been awakened again. Your surprise repentance has made it impossible to pass final judgment on you. You cannot go to Hell, as you were sentenced in the Sixteenth Century, because of that repentance. I cannot send you to Purgatory because of that sentence. You will return to the living world to see how good your repentance is. As for your underling, we shall see. You know the fate of vampires as a rule."

"I was never very good at following the rules! That is why I am here! Sir, I make another tiny request, again, as I always do, and this time it may be inappropriate. Seeing how you need to interview Jonathan and all, could I see Giovanni in the between time?"

"Which is it, Misko? Do you want to see Giovanni or do you want us to consider Jonathan for your trial?"

"I did think that was pushing it a bit. My evils have denied me again. Please, tend to Jonathan. I know I will see Giovanni in due time. I have another time to die."


	2. Chapter 2: Rafael's Flight

A/N: Okay, it has been more than a year that I started retyping this story. So, I got out of the mood and what not. Thanks to those who have reviewed, and I hope you return.

The somewhat modern day part of this story takes place in New Orleans, but I did write this some time ago, and this has nothing to do with Katarina. I needed an old city with French origins that was in the US.

Chapter 2: Rafael's Flight

Rafael

En Route to New Orleans, 2000

Again I am left to the road again. I loved her, and he, like his father before him, has stolen away one that I loved. Yet I flee the scene instead of standing my ground. Gregory thinks I cannot harm him, but he is wrong. I have the strength to defeat him, but I run instead. I don't know why I run. A part of my soul will not let me harm him, but I know I will someday defeat this restraint, and I will happily wade knee deep in his blood.

I head to New Orleans. It is time to face the cat. She has been tracking me down because she has a favor to ask of me. So, I shall meet her on her own ground. She is French, and she will turn up here at some time, if she is not already here. Familiarity always tends to draw us back. I guess, in a way, we are homesick. Perhaps I can break the chain of events and have an agreement on my own terms.

She is quite an attractive vampire, and we would make quite a pair. Her long black hair conflicts so much with her deathly pale flesh. She reminds me of some Greek goddess . . . maybe Peresphone. No, she is no innocent, and she is much too cold. She is a cat, and the cat is she. She holds the world in the way that a cat does. She carries the grace and the arrogance that a cat does, but what am I to expect. I know damn well that we take on the aspects of the type of vampire we represent.

In a way, it is better that we are past our times. The Inquisition was none too fond of our kind, and humans are very funny about the things that they do not understand. Mortals are still funny about such things, but they are better than they were in the sixteenth century. Too bad Gregory does not understand that this is the 21st century, and being a vampire hunter is not an accepted profession for the time. I guess rumors of certain nasty things happening to an ancestor have the tendency to drive descendants to do weird things.

I often wonder how the rodent survived so long without being hunted down. At least the cat and I look human. I guess the more twisted and obvious the vampirism, the more the vampire is ignored. Of course, I do remember his charisma. He almost had the Inquisition convinced to release him. He was so good at twisting the meaning of our actions to his benefit. I was not fooled, but he offered me a chance at a first link in vampirism in exchange for his release. I got both. I saw him die at first light, and I did return from the dead with is immortality without being bitten. Of course such things could have come about easier. He returned from the ashes to pronounce a curse upon me. I would have appreciated it if he didn't have to do it in front of my cohorts, but it was better to become a vampire at 32 than wait until I was his age. At least, I have all the strength and the looks. It makes this life interesting and full. I only hope that when I find an appropriate willing mate to share my vampirism with, she will not fall victim to the hunters so soon after the transformation. The hunters always seem to find out.

My four daykeepers follow with my belongings. They do not make good company, but they serve their purpose. All four of them have no choice but to be totally dedicated to me. That is the rule of the second bite. They are not much better off than zombies, but they look alright, and they have their intelligence, but they have no will of their own. I refuse them the third bite that would take them into full vampirism. They desire this more than anything in the world, because they are between worlds. They can no longer ever be human. If I were to perish, they would perish with me. If they become vampires, then there is some semblance of hope. There is some freewill, if I allow it, and there is rumor of a way to reverse the effects, but I am not willing to give up my life for that. Also, a vampire can be destroyed. A daykeeper cannot. Daykeepers are useful to take care of my affairs during the day, and four daykeepers are quite enough.

This particular vampire hunter is a descendent of an Elliot Harper, who has been in pursuit of me since 1975, and his son followed after him. They both have had great success in finding me, but it must be seriously trying on the family and the budget to chase someone around the world. It is an unpaid job, too. Even I have to keep up some kind of employment. I do need some place to stay and keep in style.

I look back in the direction from which we came. I should have left a couple of weeks earlier, and Ellalouise would still be with me. I have never been very perceptive of oncoming danger. I don't understand why I haven't been caught. It almost makes it worse that all whom I choose to come to love come to a swift death. It almost makes friendship and love impossible. I wonder if I do not destroy this Gregory first, would he go after the cat when I lead him into her domain. After all, she is the one with the loony daykeeper.

"My lord?" speaks Dexeter, my oldest daykeeper. He was one of the first vampire hunters to go after me.

"I'm coming," I answer. Do I want Gregory to follow me like this? It would not solve anything. His son would go in pursuit of me, and four daykeepers are quite enough. If I could get the chance, I may do it anyway. I don't know. Would death be more appropriate? It is always interesting to watch the man, who believes that vampirism is the worst possible fate struggle with the fact that he has become the worst nightmare. Maybe it would equal out the pain he has caused me?

I admit that I have not been the perfect person, but I have not been that horrible of a monster. I have seen far worse human deeds. Shit! I have done worse things as a human than I have done as a vampire. All my daykeepers did something against me. That is why I condemn them to their fate. I'll admit that I did enjoy working for the Spanish Inquisition as a mortal. I guess I still don't regret it, but I have not done anything close to those deeds since my transformation. I no longer have the desire. I guess the watching of withering souls under our unbearable tortures was a childish motive. I have experienced death as all vampires must. It does interesting things to the mind, especially when you are damned.

Oh well, I guess eventually things will get better. I'm waiting. New Orleans looks like the place to change the way of things. I am not so sure that it has to do with the leading of danger into the cat. It seems to be something very different.


	3. Chapter 3: Camilla Appears

A/N: It takes me better than a year to post chapter 2, and here I am posting Chapter 3 in less than a week. Going through this mess yet again,there are bits that I am bit proud of. There are 5 real narrators in the course of this story, and if I get to Chapter 8, you'll get to meet all of them.

As I have mentioned in an earlier chapter, I have already written this story through. I just have to get off my lazy butt and retype it.

Chapter 3: Camilla Appears

Camilla

New Orleans, May 2000

The two of us approach the old shack that I have chosen for our purpose of hiding out. The grey overcast sky in this miserable month of May are lighted with the cloak of thick clouds instead of the black emptiness of eternal space. My cringing companion and I cross the swamp lands to old entropy infested shack, that could have been someone's pleasant little home many years before. The slight wind rattles the loose shingles and blows the tattered curtains left in only three of the boarded up windows facing us. The slushing and the rattling cause my companion to clutch my arm. I sigh. I must endure.

No phone wires or electrical wires cross the sky, which is one of the reasons I choose this place. Technology among many sundry things upset Lucinda. The lack of technology suits me, too. I see better in the darkness, and Lucinda couldn't see the light even if it was available. I would prefer not to be bothered with the phone. Not to mention, Lucinda doesn't need to be irritated by the noise. She is enough to handle with the natural noises around us.

Her small slight black cloaked figure clings tighter to my arm as the thunder rumbles across the sky. The mist in the air tells of the coming rain. She trusts that I will protect her. I will not betray that trust. She trusts me and nothing else, and I think she is the only creature that exists or will ever exist that trusts me, and I her. The oddness of our relationship itself makes my life all the more strange. I have plenty of quirks among other things that would cause fear in the typical human, but she clings to me as a child would to a mother. She is no longer truly human, nor has she been for almost 200 years. Her extreme fear and trust of me is a good enough reason to live some miles from the university, where I have found employment.

I have taken up teaching the French language and French history from 1650 to the present. I am well qualified for such after all. I lived through that history and I am of the French origin. I grew up in France and lived there for many years. So, of course, the history class that I teach is French history. I had a little time to convince the school of my qualifications, resulting in the forging of my records. The sudden illness of their previous professors of these classes did not even put them up to any suspicion towards me. I must make sure the information never reaches Lucinda. She would not approve even in her present state. I don't know why I allow the course of my life to be moved by her thoughts and her likes.

New Orleans does much for my spirit, and I hope to have a long stay here. The air of my own people lingers here. I feel that someday I may move to the Midwest where Lucinda can be near people of her own for awhile.

A rat pounces through the grass in from of our feet. I know what will come. My companion fears rats more then anything else. I sigh, because I know she is aware of its presence.

"A rat! A rat! Rats everywhere!" She grasps my arm tighter causing pain, but I cannot lash out at her. The fear of her tortured mind, if not shared by me, is well justified. "The town is overrun with rats! Where is he? I do not smell his carrion! I do not smell his blood! His servants are here!"

"Sh!" I tell her, "It is over. That event has gone and passed."

My words hold no meaning to her. They never do when rats are involved. "The black sails block out the sun! The sky is blinded! Red streaks down from the rat mongers claws! He stands proud as his bidding is fulfilled! We are dying! God help us, save us from him! The daughter of the Earth is in the fields picking flowers. He is coming for her! He will destroy her! Jonathan! Help me, Jonathan! No! The demon has him! Oh God, help us! Save us! He has stolen our summer, and Weimar stands in desolation of winter! Oh Lord, help us!"

"Sh! He is not here. This is their home. Everything has a home, even us. We are going to our new home." I take her gloved hands. "We shall have some breathing space before he finds us again. I think that your trouble will be out of the way by the time we meet him again. You will be able to stand on your own and defeat him."

I lead her into the house to confront her with a totally different interior than would be expected. The front room is cluttered with crates, some fully packed and others otherwise. Candles are scattered in different parts of the room giving off their eerie dim glow reflecting on the different glassware that is scattered about. Lucinda is aware of the light and it comforts her. Tonight, as busy as it was, I can tell that the unpacking will continue. I know Lucinda will do something with the unpacking today as I sleep. Things will look better after a little effort.

I admire some of the fine porcelain that I have collected over the years. My companion doesn't notice. She approaches one of the stands where a candle weakly burns. Her cloak appears even more black in the weak candle glow as she kneels down. I hear her words from her pained throat.

"Flickering light of my world, help me."

I go to her. Feeling a chill, I put my arm around her cloaked shoulders and lead her to the bedroom. I wish I had never come to Weimar. I would never have met her, and I would still have my freedom. I could have remained my cold uncaring self. Why me! I didn't want to change, and I still don't want to. I feel for her though, and she does appreciate my presence. I don't feel as awful as I should feel. She goes to bed and lays down whimpering. I swallow hard. The journey has been a hard one, and it is telling on my spirit. I pull the covers over her. She falls into a trouble sleep about her tormented past.

I shut the door to her room and sit at the table until almost daybreak. My mind is full, but I must rest. Tomorrow will be busy. I have to arrange my house, order my books, and arrange my class schedule. I must have a clear mind for that task. I must be ready for when Rafael comes.


	4. Chapter 4: Dorothea Returns

A/N: If anyone reads this far, this story will get better. I promise.

Chapter 4: Dorothea Returns

Dorothea

New Orleans, Late August

Oh well, the end of summer again, and I've still done nothing. That's summer for you. It always goes so quick, and sometimes too quick. It depends upon the topic of the year. I go through theme summers. I write letters one year, I read books the next. I got a kick out of researching folklore one year. This year I have spent mostly on a distortion trip. Being crazy is fun. All a distortion trip means is that I've working too hard. I see the humor in things that there's really no humor in, but that's alright. I have always been a bit off key. Going back to school gets me back to a semi-reality. Distortion trips are fun but they are terribly lonely, because no one really doesn't care what you are laughing about. As it is said, if you have to explain it, it's not funny. Oh well, this is good writing material.

I am glad to go back to class. I tend to get more work done that way. Anyway, I haven't seen Maria in almost an age. Not to mention, mother is driving me crazy. She tends to do that when I have been home too long. I fear at how Maria and I will get along this year. We have been friends for nearly three years. That's a record for me. Most friendships last a year. I guess that's because I am too caught in my own little world. Maria and I have a lot of hobbies in common, and I respect her greatly. She is about as crazy as I am. But, they say be careful when you burn the candle at both ends. I must have as much fun with our pranks and antics as I can this semester. I will miss this friendship when it is gone.

Maria is in my French history class, and it is for different reasons than me. This course is in that elusive 300 level, but I, being the little romantic that I am, am taking this course because I have always wanted to know about the French Revolution. The French class that I am taking opposite of this one I have an excuse to take, because it will help me with this one and my literature classes. It doesn't bother me at all that these classes have been moved down an hour, and they are now being held at 8:00 PM instead of 7:00. I have always been a bit more active after the sun goes down anyway. So everyone had been watch out, because I will be on the prowl this year.

The professor for these two classes has fallen ill suddenly. I didn't know that my reputation proceeded me. Part time faculty tend to stink. This 'C. Hufner' may not be as lucky as she thinks to get this job. She has to put up with me for five days a week. On the other hand, what more could she ask for.

The return to the bus ride is uneventful. I usually take the longer roundabout bus ride, because it gives me time to think. I get the privacy of the disc-man playing very loud and very obnoxious music, but all the same it is not as obnoxious as the bus driver. One of these days I am going to kill myself a certain bus driver. As long as my disc-man has fresh batteries, I will keep what little sanity that I have left from this reckless happily singing off key bus driver. Sometimes I am caught up in my own thoughts to notice him and I hate to see the bus ride end. My fictional world is often not a very nice place, but it amuses me at times. It beats being alone all the time.

I arrive at class early. I have a thing for punctuality. I think it was pounded into my head as a child. So I am usually early. I drop my books at a desk in the assigned room and trot off to the library to visit my good friend the copier machine. We have had an interesting relationship. I am normally curious as to how things work. So, I know how to make enlargements and reducements. I can get two normal pages on one. It keeps down a lot of that paperwork in the folders. Wow, I know. Anyway, I return to the room after a good half an hour with a brief pause to get some good 'ole college food, namely junk food. With my pockets stuffed with chips, candy, and a can of carbonated caffeine filled beverage, I return with my arms spread out as if I have done some great feat. Maria, who has arrived during my absence, only shakes her head.

"I have my fun, eh?" I remark as I take my seat.

"Whatever," she answers. Maria, like myself, sits slouching in her faded blue jeans. She is small. She stands about five inches shorter than me. Her straight short dark hair frames her fair face with a sharp nose. I am very much the opposite. I am tall and rather on the chubby side. Well, quite a bit on the fat side. Come, I'm 6'0" . . . . well, 5'11" and weight 200 lbs. My hair is light brown and long and straight. One side will curl, but the other side is basically dead. My eyes are a funny shade of grey. I can't even have an exciting eye color.

"So, what's up?" I ask, as I sling my feet to the chair in front of me.

"Nothing."

"I hear that we will not be using books for this course."

"It is just as well."

"Indeed! That's $50.00 saved and history text are so boring!" came my reply.

"All the better for you and the way that you read the assignments."

I grin as a reply. I am not noted for my diligent studying. I am a good listener, so I manage to get by quite well. "So, what do you think about the schedule changes?"

She shrugs. "It started early enough, but I don't like the obscurity of the time. It does not fit well with any of my other classes. The idea of it being twice a week doesn't do much for me either."

"I don't mind so much. I am used to day classes though."

"C'est la vie."

I frown at her. "I am not familiar with the French language yet, so don't throw French phrases at me. Things that I don't understand are French to me. I know more Greek than I do French."

"Oh, stop complaining!"

As we talk, I realize our mentor is late. This could be a bad sign. Maria is no longer aware of me, but that's normal. A tall black haired woman enters the room with the air of total grace. She appears to be my age, even though her coal black eyes say otherwise. She carries herself as a noble woman. Her snow white skin contrasts deeply with her dark hair and eyes and those blood red lips. She moves to the desk in the front of the room. She places the clipboard on the desk. Scanning over the 12 of us, her thin red lips curl into a smile, but there is a twitch of fidgeting there.

"Hello," she begins with her thick but elegant French accent, " I am Camilla Hufner, your instructor for this course History 315-51 entitled French History 1650 to the present."

Our mouths drop open at her words. She cannot even be my age. I wonder how she got into the teaching field so soon. It is obvious that she is from a well to do French family. Perhaps that would account for how she acquired the position for the two classes.

She forces a smile. "I apologize for my tardiness. I have had some troubles at home. I will try not to make this a habit." She leans against the desk and looks us over. "I do hope to be friends with you all as well as an instructor, although I am here for only a limited time. I am difficult to get hold of, but I will remain here until midnight as a normal course. All in all, I see no need for all the formalities. So, call me Camilla instead of Dr. Hufner. It seems improper for me to receive the title of respect, because many of you are older than me."

Her request is not too unusual, especially in a class so small. I look up at a moment to come eye to eye with her. I feel a chill as her brow furrows. She looks away quickly, and I feel relieved. I think I may be getting paranoid before my time. It does run in the family.

She explains what we will be doing in this class. I decided at this point in time to do some diligent scribbling. My mind is always in motion, and I am great at doing two things at once.

After being given a syllabus, we depart to go home. Maria takes me home. At home, i think over my class. I feel suspicious as Sarah, my cat, sleeps happily at my feet. It will be an interesting semester at the rate my mind is going.


	5. Chapter 5: Enter Camilla

A/N: I think my chapter titles got mixed up somewhere along the lines. Anyway, there is a pattern to the narrators of the chapter. So, that is why Dorothea gets two chapters in a row, and this one is so short. Hang in there. The story will get better. It does help when two of the main characters get out of Limbo! And the dates are somewhat important.

Chapter 5: Enter Camilla

Dorothea

October 19, 2000

I feel rather funny tonight. I am unusually happy for some reason. It is like this date ought to be a day that I should celebrate, but I cannot think why. I have nothing due today. Maybe I did on some previous October 19th. I stare out my window, and somehow I feel something special will happen to me in the near future. Maybe it will explain why today is so happy.

The semester has been a good one so far. My mind has wondered a lot about my professor Camilla Hufner. She strikes me as stranger than she should be. She acts like a woman with something to hide. Of course, my over suspicious mind needs very little to make it point to something strange and unnatural going on. I watch too many horror movies, but they keep me suitably entertained. It seems strange that I never see her around town. I know she lives nearby. I have heard her talking to several of the male students. She always tells them that she needs a ride home and she doesn't live far away. If one of the fellows gives her a ride home, then maybe they pick her up for work, too. I wish I was so lucky. I wonder when she does her grocery shopping and where? I do our grocery shopping several times a day. I always tend to forget something.

She also tends to act like she does not have the familiarity with common things. Electric lights are in France. France is an odd backward place from all the wild tales that I hear, but they have technology. She doesn't handle bright lights too well either. I personally don't like bright lights either. It comes from growing up in a house that you couldn't use better than a 60 watt light. Yet, I have learned to tolerate the brighter lights over the years. She does not understand fluorescent lights at all. She is very nervous of the flickering long light that is burning out in the class I am not too fond of the inconsistent lighting, but I don't jump away from it like it will bite me or something.

Camilla does have the habit of talking about history in an odd one sided manner. She has different views of things than most history teachers that I have had have about such things. She also says things that contradict what some of the text say. She tells certain things that only one who was present would know. I feel sometimes that she belongs to that century more than she does this one, but I think she may be out there in a fantasy world also. Her French class is very much the same way. She knows certain archaic things that are no longer used in the language. Of course, what do I know about French.

There are some modern things that she blatantly doesn't understand. She subtly ignores it. She would never ask any of us about it, but she know nothing about the metric system at all. Her European manners says she has spent a good portion of her time if not in France, then at least in Europe. Europe is very fond of their metric system whereas America is trying but not with a serious effort. She constantly uses the traditional measurements. She could not have come from Europe before the use of the metric system. She can be no more than 25.

I guess I make more of it than I should. I am good at doing that. I need some adventure in my boring life. I gaze up at the stars. Sometimes, I wish that a fantasy world could exist. It is hard to explain that I want someone to be with when I have Maria. But, Maria is Maria. She refuses much of what I wish to give her of myself. I desperately want people to know about me and share in the worlds that I see. Oh well, maybe I am more of a listener than a teller.

Sarah claws at my socks. I harass her until my hands get quite clawed. What more could I ask for. She is quite fun to harass. Oh well, as much as I complain, at least maria argues with me. I truly hate it when people agree with everything that I say. I have that particular problem that I can't respect people who always say yes.


	6. Chapter 6: Camilla's Prowl

A/N: And yes, I am still typing away on this story. I know that there are few folks looking at this story, and it pleases me. Eventually things DO pick up. This story has 66 chapters, and it takes me forever to get to the story. The first 8 chapters are introductions . . . you think! Anyway, Arein, I will be reading stuff next week. Promise.

Chapter 6: Camilla's Prowl

Camilla

Midnight of the same night

I had a hard time tonight explaining to Lucinda what must be must be. I have to leave to teach. This occurrence made me late for class. Lucinda has never been the type to be left alone, but she should be accustomed to my leaving her for a few hours. I feel terrible for her plight, but I cannot take her to class with me. It is not safe for either of us.

I felt nervous about my group of twelve students. I have been away from people for too long. I chatter too freely and too fast for my own good. Perhaps after a couple of classes, I won't feel like I am tied to the stake for public burning. One of the young women gives me a confused feeling. I look into her grey eyes to see something that I cannot explain. I wonder at her destiny and how it will cross over to mine.

The class went as well as one could expect for the first day. I am thankful that the class is small. Tomorrow's class will not be so. The computer list tells me that there are 33 students in this class, and a Dorothea Carter is common in both classes. I puzzle over the name. She is that shy brown haired grey eyed woman I took notice of.

I hope that I can get away from Lucinda more easily tomorrow. After tomorrow's class, it will be the weekend. I will have two days to take Lucinda out. The teaching I now do keeps me from getting impatient with her. Anyway, I always wanted to impart my knowledge of my homeland to others, and there is so much of Lucinda's insanity I can take with saving her from field mice. I love the girl though, and I hope when she is well that we may stick together and hunt together. I am a loner by choice, but after all this time looking after her, I will miss her when she is gone.

Standing outside of the field on which stands my home, I watch Lucinda, waiting for my return. She stands bent over and holding out a candle as an old woman would. She turns from side to side in a nervous agitated way. Every crack of noise causes her to jump and promptly look around herself. I spread a great grin across my face as a thought slinks through my mind.

I silently place my feet to the field. I, making sure I stay in the shadows, creep ever so slowly without the slightest crack of grass or slush of my foot to my intended victim. She does not know of my approach, even though her sense of smell is the strongest, followed closely by her telepathy. She can see. I do not contradict myself. She only sees shadows, but she finds no use in such. She can hear the slightest noise, which does not hurt me any. The art of prowl is my speciality. I move downwind to not alert her of my scent.

I come closer to her, but she jumps, making me cringe back. A field mouse runs across her feet. Frozen for only that moment, I then move onto dry land, where the house stands. She has resumed her silent vigil. Her head tilts to one side. She may have my scent. Standing still for another long moment, I find she doubts her sense. I return to my game.

Her tension fills the air. Closer, closer, I come. She is reverting back to her senses, but I am close enough to pounce her, as I do. Pinning her, I hold back her struggles as her voiced screams echo in the swamp. I laugh at my prank. Taking to my feet, I offer my hand to her. She continues to scream and claw at the body no longer there attacking her.

"Lucinda, it is only I. Camilla."

She trembles still. My voice has not reached her. I place my hands on my hips. I wait out her fit.

Eventually her struggles cease as that of a doomed animal trapped by a beast of prey. Its life force leaves it, and stillness remains. The air hangs heavy for the predator. The crystal silence is broken by her weeping. Her sobs do not carry far. "I am sorry, Jonathan. I tried. Our home is safe, but you are not. Forgive me."

I hold out my hand to her. Her cries end as she drifts back to the closest reality that she can accomplish at the moment. She places her wrists into my palms, but she quickly withdraws.

"You are cold. Cold like him . . . at my bedside as a vulture! Are you his messenger? Have you come to take my soul?"

"Lucinda! It is I, Camilla. Do not put me in the same breath as him! I look after you ! True, I have my pranks, but I can easily leave you to him. I have shielded your soul from him many times. I have put my body between you and his path. True, I defeated him, and he has suffered as I have left him in his own blood. Do not put me in the same breath as that foul creature!"

"Yes, my lady."

She is not the type to say just anything. I pull her to her feet and lead her into the house to find the interior made to perfection. When I left this evening, things had been a mess. Lucinda is having one of her good days. My things have been arranged in a logical order. Candles and now kerosene lamps cast light upon my porcelain collection and fulfills the picture of a nineteenth Century home. I don't understand nor have I ever understood why Lucinda wants the light, neither of us need it, and she really cannot see it. It does have a nice effect. The statuettes of lords and ladies play out their romances in their gardens. The stuffiness of my collection suits me.

I smile at her. I notice that everything has been cleaned and dusted. I look at her. She kneels and bows her head.

"I will not let him harm you. You know that. I do tend to threaten more than I mean. I will not leave you to his claws. I will find you the third. I promise. You will get better."

It is now just before dawn. I have taken her to her room. I found one of the statuettes in her room. The same statue always ends up in the place by her bed no matter where I migrate to. Her hand lines the face of the male figure, who is tall and thin with light brown hair tied neatly back. It doesn't take much imagination to figure out who he reminds her of. She didn't have bad taste in men either.

"The time is near," she says.

She sleeps with her piece near her. Maybe she is right, and the time is drawing near for her release. I do feel the one we seek is here already. When I get a chance, I will go in search of the scoundrel. I hate to bargain with him. He tends to really annoy me.


	7. Chapter 7: Rafael's Plan

A/N: Yeah, it's me again. Mind you, my lovely readers, you have already meet the main hero and the main villain. I bet it isn't the way you think. Anyway, this chapter moves the plot on a bit, and Chapter 8, inwhich I hope to post tomorrow will, is one of my favorites. Hey, you get to meet one of the major narrators there.

Chapter 7: Rafael's Plan

Rafael

The Same

She has come. I really did not expect her so soon. I wonder why she has not found my apartment yet? After all, she is very eager to get her ward off of her hands. It isn't like I haven't made myself quite obvious. I took an occupation at a club in the downtown area. I have expected to see her seeking out her victims before now. Perhaps she has found the third vampire. I do not know how many vampires the rat has left behind, and I don't know how many she has under her. I only know I have no vampire under me at this time.

The mongrel will prove a useful pawn. I cannot sense this screwed up daykeeper. I guess the mixed bites have erased her scent. I seek the source of our vampiric powers. Through the studies of the Black Arts that I have continued from my mortality, I find that there are certain personal items that may enable me to shift the curse from myself to one of my colleagues, for surely I must be cursed. I guess one of the mortals I worked with in the Spanish Inquisition had the same hobbies as I did, and he had a score to settle with me. Of course, it could have been one of my victims. All the same I must get Gregory off my tail. He is an irritating nuisance, and I feel it is only right that the cat would have to put up with him for awhile. I figure that I might as well find the source of the Rodent's power while I am at it, because who knows who else will pick up my scent, and he deserves to be pursued more so than any of us.

I tend to be rather neat nowadays in the places I hunt. I don't kill my victims anymore. Why bother? They don't remember me in the morning, or, at least, they don't remember what I did to them. I may no longer be bothered. As I have said before, I am not quite sure why Gregory follows me. I have not harmed anyone in his family. I never hurt Elliot his father. Elliot started this hunt after me, but I never harmed his mother or father. I wonder if that crazy luggage that the cat has a daykeeper is the source of all this problem. Oh well, in that case, the shift to her trail would be fitting. The cat is not in the habit of creating other vampires, because she would much rather be alone.

I must discover the three items of significance for the three of us. First I must find my own. This item comes about when one becomes a first link vampire. I have no burial place. I was never buried. The officials took my body and nailed it to a post at the crossroads. They could not bury me in hallowed ground. Of course, I don't know how that would have went over with me returning as a vampire anyway. All the same, the officials of my town thought that if I should return to the world of the living, I would be confused as to which way to go. Bah! They know nothing about vampires! Of course, I did not return home immediately afterwards. I had enough trouble in the beginning with the vampirism. I wonder what the thing of significance can be. I will find out.

The second problem is finding the thing of the rodent. The cat would know about these items, and she would keep it well guarded. She is a sister in the arts. She probably keeps her stuff near her at all times. The rat was too scatterbrained to keep his stuff together. Although I am in the wrong country to find anything of his, I know that it is here. Somehow it has passed from hand to hand to arrive here. I know it is here also.

I have discovered someone who is a collector of the things of the Spanish Inquisition. He is in the Western part of the country. I have sent two of my daykeepers to find him and recover my something. They will recognize my scent upon it no matter how old it is. They will know what no mortal being could know.

I have sent Eilif, my third daykeeper, to keep Gregory on a wild goose chase through the country after me. Even though he feels killing some women would be quite appropriate, I don't really feel like going through being responsible for more deaths. It is no longer amusing. I have grown fond of the human race over the last couple of decades. I guess their hatred of the supernatural has faded so much in the last couple of decades that I actually feel part of this world again. Sometimes I think if my nature was known to the masses now that the need for them to kill me would not be very strong, but I could be wrong. Mortals nowadays seem much more curious about the nature of things. It does beat the sixteenth century. So, Eilif has strict orders not to kill anyone.

My daykeeper, who remains to me, is Dexeter, who is my top and most trusted daykeeper. He comes to me and bows. Watching the ships pull into the harbor from the patio of my apartment, I pretend to ignore his presence. He tells me all the news that he has gathered. I listen indifferently to it all.

"I have found the piece to the rodent vampire. It is here in New Orleans."

I turn to him to look in his vacant eyes. "What is it?"

"My lord, a woman has it. She calls herself Miss Dorothea Carter."

"Dorothea Carter? Her name . . . it is familiar. Wait now. There is no rush. I do not sense the rodent here yet. Let my item be found first."

"Yes, my lord."

"You will be paid well for your services. You shall feed tonight."

My food is more or less human blood. No other blood will digest in my system. My servants feed off of bloody meat no matter what the animal. It prepares them for their final diet, and they strive for that day of their independence to eat what pleases them. Daykeepers are more durable all around. They do not need to eat ever, but they desire it. They will survive as long as I survive, and they feed off of my energy. If I grant one of them full vampirism, he will have his own mind back and his freedom to die whenever he wants or falls prey to vampire hunters. None of them are worthy yet.

I leave the patio to enter my apartment, which is adorned with modern art and many enlarged photos of myself. I did not think that I could be photographed, but Dexeter can make a good solid image of me show up on paper, but no mortal can cause the camera to react so. When I take to a new nightclub, it is in my contract that no one but Dexeter may photograph me, and he is always prompt to keep any mortal to that contract.

I still puzzle over the name of the owner of the article of the rodent. I cannot place her. I shake my head and hand my daykeeper a piece of paper that these people call money. I think it is really worthless, but what do I know. My eager daykeeper graciously accepts. I return to my patio, and I think over the name of that woman again. Maybe I will be able to put a face to the name eventually.


	8. Chapter 8: The Complaint

A/N: This is one of my favorite chapters in many ways. This is the companion chapter to Chapter 1. I had a cat once named Jonathan for this story, and he was a little hellcat. My friend told me that was becausehe knewwhat I did to his character, and I am proud of it! Anyway, this story is based off a mismemory of mine. So, the story does not conform with any version of Dracula. Well, it had been awhile since I saw the movie! So, take what is said as a given

Chapter 8: The Complaint

Limbo

"I am a victim of chance. I never wanted any of this to happen. Why should I want to be the cause of the death and destruction of my home, my family, my friends, and my dear wife? Why should I want to destroy those things most dear to me? I have a hard enough time with bringing harm to those things that have given me reason to do so, but given the chance, I would be more than happy to bring pain to that vile creature, who has dishonored me with his own dishonor.

"He started the whole thing off innocent enough. He was almost shy about it. In May of 1824 I received a letter from him. His cheery words congratulated me on my engagement. I did not know how he had known. I didn't even question his source. In this letter, among much useless but amusing chatter, he requested information about an old mansion in Weimar. He wanted to meet with me and discuss a price later that year. With the year being quite booked for me at this time, I requested that we meet in the following February. His reply came, as written before, cheerful and full of clutter. He set the date to be February 9th at a hotel in Florence, Italy. So, it was agreed.

"Over the months in between, I gathered together the papers and informed the owner of his good fortune, because the place was in desperate need of repair. It would be good to have someone to care for the place. It had a good foundation, and with some work it would be a fine place to live once again. It deserved more than solitary decay.

"So, on December 2nd, I married Lucy. Our first Christmas was quite joyous, and my 37th birthday was the best to date, and on January 16th, I said my final goodbyes and set off for Florence with high hopes.

"I arrived in Florence late on the evening of February 8th. Being quite weary from the long journey, I took a room in the nearest available respectable hotel. I was preparing for bed, when a knock came at the door. Running my hand through my hair and over my tired face, I answered the door. There stood a small pale bald peculiar old man dressed in black and leaning on a silver headed cane. He stared up at me with bright black eyes.

"'Signoir Harker?' he asked in a peculiar accent unlike those I had heard since my arrival to Florence.

"'I am he,' I answered, giving up all hope that this man was either the manager or room service.

"He made an elaborate bow. 'I am Count Orlock, my dear fellow.' He straightened and extended his bony and what appeared to be a clawed hand.

"I cringed back from the offer. What was it that brought on such imagination? He dropped his hand back to his cloak and glanced to the floor. He said quietly, 'I am sorry, Signoir Harker. I forget that my deformed hands frighten most people. I tried to speak an apology, but I couldn't find the words. I patted his shoulder, and he looked up and smiled at me.

"I bid him entrance. His smile widened further. I felt a chill go through my body, but I spoke nothing to him. Why should I insult my client further? There was no logical reason yet to dislike him or fear him. He hadn't done anything to hurt me yet. On the contrary, he tried very hard to be good to me and get me to like him. 'I hope you will pardon my Italian. It is not as good as it should be.'

"'Do not worry, my friend. I am fluent in German,' he answered in German. 'I had to chose Florence as our meeting place. She has always been so lovely no matter what age I have seen her in. All good things happen here."

"He looked around my room. 'How did you know I was here. I have just arrived, and I'm a good five miles from our agreed meeting place.'

"He shrugged his shoulders. Smiling, he answered, 'I have my sources when it suits me to use them.' He continued to gaze around my room with a contented serene smile on his face. Suddenly, the serenity left his face to be replaced by terror. He struck out with his cane and smashed a small unadorned mirror. Dropping the cane, he jumped back trembling. His mouth gapped showing strange crooked teeth and a most unusual overbite.

"'I am sorry, my dear Herr Harker. I fall victim to such strange fits. I had a bad experience with a mirror when I was young. Please, forgive me, my dear fellow.'

"Accepting his explanation, I nodded to him, i handed him his cane. I went to the papers that I had brought and arranged them in order. I presented my client with the deeds and assorted legal papers for the old mansion. I explained to him in all fairness the bad condition that the place had fallen into due to years of neglect and abuse. He looked up at me with those gentle black eyes and gave me a half smile.

"Still insistent upon buying the old house and paying quite handsomely for it, he eagerly signed the papers and the deeds. I took the documents from him and filled out the rest of the necessities. Slowly I felt his freezing cold rough hands on my neck. I shrank back from him. He swiftly pulled that hand into his cloak. He took several steps back. I glared at him. He looked up at me with those big black watery eyes. Silence fell between us. After what felt like forever, he said with trembling lips and heavy accent, 'Forgive me, Herr Harker. I am of many peculiar habits and appreciations. You do have a fine strong neck!'

"I frowned at him. He looked to the floor. His shoulders slumped. I opened my mouth to complain further, but I couldn't. I placed my hands on his shoulders and made him sit. I told him that it was alright. I put the incident out of my head, which was what he was hoping for in his pretense. He played his part well and I fell for it. I wish I had had enough sense to have seen through his ploys, but I fell into all of his traps. I wish I wasn't so blind, and I could have seen the answer to all his strangeness. I just blamed his peculiarity to his foreignness. It was 1825, and vampires and demons just didn't exist. We were far from burning witches.

"Having signed all the papers and forms, he announced that he had chartered a ship home for the following night. He said his good nights and left. The next night, he came for me at sundown. He insisted that we walk to the ship's dock. All the way he chattered to me about the many and various things he had done in Florence. It was so strange. He acted so human and so friendly. I actually thought I rather liked him and looked forward to him moving into Weimar. Of course, this was all before I knew his nature.

"When we boarded the ship back to Weimar, he won a battle with his charisma over his strange luggage. His sugar coated words convinced them that they had nothing to worry about in those three oblong boxes. He escorted himself as a gentleman, and he was accepted as he appeared. He was never questioned as to why we never saw him during the daylight hours. I never questioned why a seemingly friendly person never mingled with the others. Sometimes he acted apprehensive of me.

"One evening he stood at the bow of the ship. He gazed dreamily into the black water. The air grew cold and utterly silent. I fought with myself and stayed my distance. For once I somewhat listened to my instincts. All the same, he knew I stood nearby.

"Sighing, he said, 'Herr Harker, you cannot feel the beauty of the night, but it does lose it attractiveness in eternity. Eternity, my dear Herr Harker, is a horrible thing to understand, when one is a solitary moon among so many uncaring stars.'

"I shuddered, and the fear overcame me that night. I resolved to stay away from him. The following night, I had to break my resolution. He appeared so much more gaunt than usual. He acted so weak and less alert. His face had appeared drawn and was almost a mask of death. His hands appeared more clawed, twisted, and deformed. The other passengers had fled from him, and an overbearing fear came over me. I pulled back from the stumbling creature. He fell to his knees. The darkened eyelids now covered the now dull black eyes. I stepped back a couple of feet. I could not take my eyes off this frail helpless creature. Fear pushed me back from him. Swallowing hard, I fought with this unjustified fear. I forced myself to approach him. What was there to be afraid of from a helpless old man. He needed help. I went to his side and helped him to his unsteady feet. He smiled up at me. His clawed hands gripped my arms with a surprising strength. He persuaded me to take him to the hold, where he could find 'medication' for his ailment.

"I found he feigned illness when we reached the hold. He undid himself from my aid. With a wide smile on his lips, he softly put those frozen clawed hands on my shoulders. He kissed my forehead with those cold lips of his. I frowned at all these actions. I could not understand him. I looked into those deep black eyes to complain, but I was captive by those deep black pools. I had never known how black they were nor how empty. They seemed like deep black voids that I was being sucked into without control.

"I tried to struggle. I tried to pull away. Those eyes closed. I pulled back, but those clawed hands prevented my escape. His form became hazy. He became more pale, thinner and more gaunt like a long dead corpse. His teeth! All I could see was those teeth! They had turned into two long sharp fangs at the front of his mouth. How could I have not noticed them before? I tried to scream, but my throat denied my voice sound.

"I continued to struggle. My head involuntarily pulled back. He released my arms. He carefully undid my collar. I tried to move my arm. If only I could push him away, I could run. My arms refused to obey. My mind uttered a prayer. My voice would not. He ran his icy hand through my hair. He rubbed his nose against my neck. Soft lips kissed my neck. I gasped. He nuzzled my neck. He glanced up at me. He smiled again. He bowed to my neck. His teeth brushed me. Pressure of those two fangs came. I swallowed hard. Pain came. I cried out voicelessly. The fangs sunk deeper into my neck. Every exhale cried out in pain. The blood flowed at his command. My ears roared. Tears rolled down my cheeks. Fever took me. I choked. He drank. His hand steadied me. Cold tears touched my shoulder. I regained the power of one arm. I raised that arm. I pushed at that cold moist face. His face warmed with my blood. I tried to cry out again. I fainted.

"I woke to pain. I could not speak. I didn't want to breathe. I choked and choked. I could not gasp enough of the cold stale air. I thought that my chest would break open before I stopped choking. When the choking finally ended, I collapsed into a troubled sleep. The full knowledge of where I was and the impending danger was not enough to defeat the exhaustion.

"I woke from a troubled dream. I sat up. The covers over me fell away. I couldn't move my arms or legs. I was bound with heavy ropes. I saw the villain's long crates before me. Out of the darkness he appeared on one of them with a black rat on his wrist. I pulled back. He laughed at my fear. Those long fangs gleamed through the darkness. He moved fromt he crate and lit a lantern. He turned to me.

"Shining the light on me and casting shadows upon his pale face, he said to me, 'The Black Death comes to this ship and soon to Weimar, but you, my dear Herr Harker, and I shall be spared this time and the rest of the times from its fury. Do not scoff me. You will understand the darkness.'

"I tried to kick at hm, but I was too weak and awkward to trip him. He set the lantern down. He forced me down and pulled the covers over me. The rat ran from his shoulder and across my body. Later he brought me food and drink. I couldn't help but eat and drink. I slept much that night. I didn't believe or understand what was happening. I was so tired and so weak.

"It did not take long for me to realize the reality. Even though he was not wrong. I did not suffer the plague. The last days of my mortality were filled with horror. The screams and cries of the other passengers on board of this cursed ship tore at me. I cried with the knowledge of the ship reaching Weimar and bringing the horrid disease to my friends, my family, and my dear Lucy. Please, Lord Minos, understand. I did not mean to make the passageway intentionally. I didn't want to be a slave to the wielder of the plague. Why couldn't he be happy with my own slow destruction? Why did he have to continue?

"I know. What are the use of my weak tears in Hell. It is my guilt. It is that villain's guilt that is far from him to ever feel. I will no longer whine to you, if I can help it. I know you wish for me to finish my story.

"There really isn't much to tell you. My memory will not allow me much more. Orlock would not let me die. I refused his food. He forced the food down my throat. His might was much stronger than my will. He wanted me to be a vampire, and there was nothing that I could do about it. I don't understand the stories that tell of the victims always being willing preys in one way or the other. I couldn't escape. I couldn't kill him. I couldn't even kill myself.

"Anyway, Orlock was not exactly cruel to me or what I expected him to be like once I learned his nature. I sat and wept at my condition and the pain of the others on my conscience. I'd cry at the death coming to Weimar. He would come to me and put his arms around me. He'd speak gayly about his existence to cheer me. Even though some of his tales were sad, it didn't seem to matter to him about the old pains he had suffered. He was a vampire, and such things must not matter. Still, I don't know. The illogical presented itself. The Count Orlock, who told me such stories was not as evil as the monster, who was bringing the plague to the ship and to Weimar and feeding off of my blood.

"He took care of me. He kept me clean and warm. He kept me carefully well shaved. He never drew my blood with the blade, nor did he make any comment about saving my blood. He did talk once about the speculation of when I became a full vampire. He never finished his thought. Seeing my reaction, he never spoke of it again. At some point in time, I realized that talking to him made him extremely happy. I ceased speaking to him at all even in scorn.

"There were many times when I would cry so hard that his gentle words would not calm me. He would sit upon one of the crates and play a soothing melody on a silver flute. It was odd how such beauty could come from such a horrible creature, who delighted in spreading the plague and creating an unwilling vampire.

"After what I took to be about two and a half weeks, he went about the second bite. He stroked my face, as he often did and kissed my forehead. I found this behavior more than a little weird, but I am speaking of a vampire. He kissed my neck and steadied my head back. As his cold lips touched my neck, I thought briefly of begging for release. My vocal chords were free this time around, but I was not going to fall into another one of his traps so that he could laugh at my submission to fear. So, thus, the second bite came.

"I do not remember a continuous stream of thought after this occurrence. I remember hearing the flute and craving blood. The time for the third bite could not come soon enough. When it came, this mindless slave was overjoyed. The blood being sapped from my body was like some sick erotic pleasure. I am sorry, but it was the true feeling I had after the second bite.

"My memory becomes more spotty once I became a . . . a full vampire. All I remember is sitting in a chair encircled by salt. I saw Lucy a couple of times. I wanted her to help me, but I could not force the words. The last thing I remember was that I tried to get to her room. I don't remember how the circle was broken, but I knew I had to get to her. I never looked back. I forced myself up the steps. It is not clear to me, but I believe I was destroyed there. I never saw Lucy. I could not protect her from what I felt was happening. I failed her. I don't know if I could get forgiveness from her for what I have become."

"Your wife loves you. Even when you doubt your worthiness, she will never doubt it no matter your fate. From your story I have gathered confidence in what is to be done. A test has been laid out for you and one who will teach you the ways of vampirism. He is the one who has requested this trial for you. We accept your worthiness of it."

"Thank you, sir."


	9. Chapter 9: Dorothea's Dream

A/N: Okay, here goes the next section of Travellers. I am still setting up things, but the characters start to entwine their stories more. There will be several very short chapters forth coming, then I about Chapter 15, I will be crying about how dang long they've gotten.

Chapter 9: Dorothea's Dream

Dorothea

New Orleans November 1, 2000

I lay in my bed. My sleep is broken to a sudden chilling air. I gather the covers around myself. My sleepy eye catches a glint of white and movement. I let go of the covers and open my sleep filled eyes. My heart leaps to my throat. There is a strange man in my room. Before me stands a ghostly pale gaunt bald man dressed in a black frock coat with a black vest, black pants, and black leather boots. He wears a white shirt with a white scarf tucked neatly in his vest. His bony hands with long sharp nails rest upon a silver headed cane. A black cloak hangs over his left shoulder. Upon his head is a black cavalier hat with a great white plume encircling it. His pink lips smile in a gentle manner over a strange over bite. His deep black eyes are fixed upon me. I blink my eyes to assure myself that this is no illusion because of all of the black in my dark room.

I feel the need to sit up. There is no reason why I should deny it. So, I do so. Before I can ask who he is and how did he get into my room and why was he here, he takes off that hat and places it to his heart. He makes an elaborate bow. I reach out to touch him. I pull away. His hand is ice cold. Cold it is, but it isn't that cold. He looks up at my reaction, and sadness crosses his face.

Giving this all up as some strange twisted dream, I figure what the hell. I shake my head as I take his cold rough hand into my own. "It's okay," I tell him, "Please, rise."

Nodding he obeys. He places his hat on my bed. He looks at me with a large smile on his face and those bright black eyes seem to stare straight into my soul. Oh well, I figure. I throw my legs out of the bed and to sit on the side. Luckily I wear pajamas, so I don't have to worry about such indecent exposure to this stranger. For some reason, I feel that I do not need to fear this peculiar stranger. Somehow deep in my soul I know he means no harm. Besides, it is a dream, right. A right weird dream, that I don't know what I ate or read to bring it on, but a dream all the same.

He stands up startled and drops his cane. I go to retrieve it for him, but he takes my hands and kisses my palms with those cold soft lips. Longish teeth brush my hand in this kiss. I withdraw with a sudden uncomfortable fear. Nodding his head down, he releases my hands and reaches for his hat.

"No," I say as I pause his reaching hand, "Don't leave yet." Hey, he was an interesting little fellow, and I might as well be entertained in my dreamworld. I motion for him to sit beside me. He leans his cane against the bed and takes his hat to sit in its place. Shoulder to shoulder we sit. Neither one of us know what to say. My overwhelming questions have ceased for the moment. He seems just content to sit next to me.

We sit silently for a long while. Neither one of us are sure what to say. Finally, he hooks his hat on his cane. He takes my hands and looks into my eyes. He wants to touch my face, but he curls his hand and pulls it away. "I have finally found you. I have sought you for so long, my lady, and now that I have found you, I know not what to say. Everything seems so unsuitable and clumsy in my mouth," he says in a peculiar voice heavy in accent.

I smile. "Lack of words would tend to mess up the moment."

He fidgets and fingers his hat in his lap. Looking down he says, "I know how Alestair felt now! I could well wet my pants!"

"What a thing to say to a woman that you just met!" I complain.

"Forgive me, my lady. I have not been in this situation before. Well, not in a voluntary way on both sides . . . well, on a neutral ground," he stutters on. He throws up his hands. "Well, I mean, I don't mean to stick my foot in my big mouth!"

The initial quiet has been broken, and those urgent questions come back to my mind. "What are you doing calling in the middle of the night and in my bedroom even!"

"Well, . . . uh . . . my lady, . . . I . . . uh . . . it's rather hard to explain, but I would like to . . . uh . . . court you, my lady, if you would permit me."

I narrow my eyes at him. He has to be at least 60. I've heard of looking for an older man, but he is almost old enough to be my grandfather. I look in those black eyes. I see a bright childlike glint, but I also see a vast expanse of age. I close me eyes and turn away from him. Taking a moment to clear my mind and avoiding the urge to call him a letch, I say, "Don't you think that you are a bit old for me?"

"Older than you think," he smirks. He pulled at his fingers each in turn. "It's awfully hard to explain."

"Well, don't you think you should start. I am willing to sit here and listen. I can be a friend to you, I guess. You seem nice enough . . . a little weird, but nice."

"Thank you, my lady. Friendship can grow in many and various ways, and I have time for you to learn to love me from that friendship. Not to mention, you'll catch up with me in age anyway," he answers. He gazes at me, but he makes no effort to pull closer. I just sit confused at ever. That is the nature of dreams, is it not. "The time of our true meeting is drawing near."

"Huh?" I ask. Enough is enough. A dream can be only so confusing.

He perks up. "That's what Alestair always says!"

"For good reason!" I argue back.

"It's very hard to explain, my lady, and I don't really want to tell you right now."

"Already holding secrets from me!" I complain coyly.

"It's not that, my lady," he replies as his cheeks turn red, "I will tell you in time.

"Quit worrying about it," I tell him, "I guess I will wait and find out."

He smiles. Clasping his hands together in a hopeful gesture. "I have so much to tell you, but I don't know where to start. I am seeking the words."

He twiddles with his hat for awhile, then he turns to me and opens his mouth to speak. I hear a harsh hissing sound that is somehow familiar. He turns around to see Sarah my cat with her back arched and rather ticked off. Oh well, that is Sarah. She pounces him and strikes him in a strategic place from behind.

I jump awake. My room is dark and empty. Hissing and growling, Sarah arches her back at me. She moves in to bite me. I swat at her, but she wins, because she has sharpers claws and teeth. I get up groggily as I suck my wounded hand.

I leave my room and wander down the dark stairs. My back tingles down the spine. My eyes widen, as I try to pierce the darkness. My ears strain to hear the slightest sound of movement. I hear nothing out of the ordinary. My nervous fingers reach for the light switch, but they never make their destination. A sudden crack hits the base of my skull. Blackness.


	10. Chapter 10: Lucinda's Vision

Chapter 10: Lucinda's Vision

Camilla

November 1, 2000

I sit napping by the fireplace. This day is both a blessing and a curse. I had made arrangements earlier this semester for my absence on this day. Lucinda sleeps. She had jumped with her ear on edge earlier listening to something. What it could possibly be, I don't know. I never really know anything about her. It is useless trying to get an answer from her. She struggled with all of her strength in resistence of going to bed. She has always been calm on All Saint's Day. I know that something has to be on and about, and I don't like the smell of it. I am prepared all the same to fight what force may come, but they will not come tonight.

The light from the fireplace dimly reflects around the room. The burnt out candle stubs lay scattered around the room. My eyes become heavy. Even though sleep is not a necessary for me, I do enjoy a nap once and awhile. I reflect back to the different places Lucinda and I have been. I have protected her from many things . . . some things real dangers and others are all in her terrified mind. I try to remember a time before Lucinda, but I cannot.

A scream echoes through the room. I take to my feet to her room. She screams like that when he comes near. She pulls the sheet up and whimpers like a child. I run to her. She still sleeps in a dream of horror that she cannot break through. Her hands claw at the air suddenly. Struggling with him again in her nightmares.

I take her arms and shake her. She wakes crying. I hold her. If only I could do something other than just hold her.

"His shade wonders here! He is coming! Oh God! He is coming! The Murderer! The clouds smother the sky. The cloud chokes out the sun and the moon. Choking! Choking! Jonathan, what can I do to help you? He smiles as he weaves the clouds. Jonathan smiles and I see the monster of no true name! I see his evil in my love! I will give the monster what he wants, but, please, free Jonathan of the curse."

I sigh. Here we go again. I hate it when she does this kind of thing, but it is becoming an all too often thing, and I fear that it means I will have to leave this place before I am ready.

She clutches her gown. "Has God created his cause and sown that seed in my soul? The time is near! I will give myself to him. Where is Jonathan? The time is near. Release or damnation. Which is chose for us? Will sleep ever come to the wanderers. Will sleep come to the travelers of the night? He smiles tonight! What is he smiling at? Why? My misery? The blood drips down the black velvet to the puddle that grows ever bigger. Ping! Ping! Ping!"

She becomes quiet for a moment. She looks forward as if she sees something or someone. She holds out a trembling hand to touch that which she alone can see. "We mirror. Reflection. No reflection. Shadow. Solid. She is solid. She is alive. She is I. I am she. We opposite. We are the same. Is he confused? Does he realize the difference? Her grey eyes welcome him. Does he even concern himself with me anymore, or does he intend to hurt her also."

She quiets. I continue to hold her for a few more moments. Silence hangs in the air like a fog. I lay her to her bed. I have heard all these words before, all of them, except for that last part. I can guess what she means by most of them. It is the same old. It is that fear of him that forever torments her. I am not quite sure what that last part means, unless he tires of chasing her and is going to a new victim. I wish I could find the appropriate way to destroy him forever. He would deserve it for leaving his work undone for me to stumble upon. I would like to leave her somewhere and forget the whole mess, but I can't bring myself to do it. I continue day to day with this torment.

"Don't worry, Lucinda. I will protect you from him. I have so far."

"Where is Jonathan?" she asks in a childlike voice.

"Sh. He is dead. He is gone. Leave the dead to the past where they are at home. Sh. Rest."

"I saw Jonathan tonight."

"Sh. Rest."

She looks at me. "Jonathan still chokes. I hear him. I feel him. He lives again. He will come for me."

I refuse to argue. I feel no need to discourage her strong hope. I did not see this Jonathan die, but the tales that I heard and his tombstone confirms it for me. It would be good if he does still live for her sake. S he would cry a lot less, and he could be the source of her cure. I can dream, too. She sleeps again, but she smiles during this new rest.


	11. Chapter 11: Lucinda in Town

Chapter 11: Lucinda in Town

Dorothea

November 2, 2000

Maria and I meet today. I have resolved not to tell her about the dream I had last night. She would think me foolish. I still think about it and him. He was rather charming. I don't know, but even I am surprised at this fascination. The incident with me waking up on the floor is not too unusual. I do tend to sleepwalk periodically, and I have fallen and hit my head on something. My mind is too active of late. Maria and I are going shopping today. We haven't done this in months. I guess, I ought to find a friend a little closer to home, and Maria is very prompt to agree. She lives across town. For all my loud mouth and cheerfulness around the people I know or in a familiar environment, I am quite shy around people I don't know. People frighten me. I live too much in my worlds of fantasy, and I don't get out much. Maria says to me far too often, "You need to find a man of flesh and blood." I do dream too much.

She comes. I hold down my own anxiety. I walk slowly to meet her halfway. We greet each other and head for the bookstore. Exactly what neither one of us needs is more books, but that's why we are forever in bookstores.

"So, how's it going with you and Rob?" I ask. Rob is Maria's boyfriend. He's a nice fellow, and many times I am jealous, not that I would ever say anything to her about it, but I wish there was a Rob out there for me sometimes.

"Hmm, alright. He needs a little encouragement, but he is coming along," she answers. Well, that's Maria for you. She is capable of shaping any person into what she wants. So, I wonder what that says about me?

" A little encouragement, eh? Can I guess who wears the pants in this relationship?"

She smiles broadly. If t were me in her place, we would never get anywhere in that relationship. I am from the old school. The man leads. The independent woman comes out every once and awhile. I take some orders well, but the real me wants out and will force herself out. There is only so much conformity I can take. I guess that is the big cause for my loneliness.

I sigh and try desperately to make conversation. "I have threatened to move the television out to the garbage again. I do hate those movies about killer bears try to eat the happy campers, but the campers always fight back and win. Barf! Where are the true late night horror movies with all the supernatural running amuck causing all kinds of good havoc!"

"Slasher movies! Hmpf! They can keep Jason and the sexual deviates, who are continuously in heat!"

"Now, now, Maria. There are more than 'Friday the 13th movies out there!"

"Television rots the mind."

"True, but it does pass the times."

"Hmm."

Sometimes that answer is quite annoying, but it is best not to stick one's foot into the blender, as a friend long ago used to tell me. I ignore her words about the subject and continue my idol chatter.

A cloaked hooded woman passes across the street ahead of us. Not only does her dress style makes her stand out, but she looks across the street ahead of us. She runs. She nervously looks all around herself. She turns to us. She stares at me from the shadows of that hood. She backs away and screams. I see blood on her gloves. She continues to stare for another moment, then she runs. She trips and fall into the arms of a rather pale older man, who looks to be in his 40's. His face is thin cold hard. The man is dressed in all in black with black gloves. She pulls away and screams again. He smacks her across the face with a good amount of strength. She falls to the ground in a heap.

"Do not look at me, misfit! I am of strand and one master. I will not allow you to desecrate me!"

The woman backs away and runs in full flight. My eyes meet with his ice blue eyes. He recognizes me, but do I know him? I back away from his cold stare. Maria pulls at my sleeve and I return back to reality.

"Whatever it is, it is no concern of ours! Let's leave before the police come and we get involved."

I smile in agreement. "I wonder what significance this holds to our lives?"

"Nothing. You are working too hard. Life is not a novel, and you are not the central character. There is no set design on our lives."

"Yes, I know. My mind wanders too much," I answer falling back into the normal routine.


	12. Chapter 12: A Report to Rafael

Chapter 12: A Report to Rafael

Rafael

November 2, 1988

I don't care much for the confinement of All Saint's Day, but I follow along. I have no desire to leave this world yet. I can hold off my prowl for the following night. The hunting here gives me great pleasure. So many young women on the streets at night. I take the blood from a chosen woman. She was a fine lovely creature with fine curves of the body. I will have to have her attendance at the apartment some night. I take her home as is my duty. She will feel ill tomorrow. All of my victims feel ill after my bite. It is part of the way.

I return home. The two daykeepers that I sent off to the west have been back for a couple of weeks now. They were successful in finding a journal I kept in the Sixteenth Century. Although no fault of my own, I do feel that the owner met an untimely end since my daykeepers have returned in good moods, and I did sense blood on them at the time. I did not make specific orders for them not to kill the possessor, so they take to violence whenever possible. I should have ordered them to behave themselves. I would have liked to have met this man. It is always fascinating to find out what the people of this century gather from my own century. It is amusing to see how right or how wrong they are. It is like hearing a new fiction that you have a secret familiarity with. Now that I possess the journal, I can figure out what my item is. There have been many things of the past that I have forgotten.

Last night, I sent the three daykeepers to Miss Dorothea Carter's house to find the article of the rodent's. I sometimes wonder how something so old and unattractive would make its way to her possession. The item is a an Italian made pitcher. Amusing. She is not Italian, but I guess that we all can come into possession of things that are not native to us. I have not met her, but I feel she will be important to my quest. She is one of those who is destined to become one of us. Perhaps she will be my next mate. All the same, I made very strong and firm orders that she was not to be harmed.

Dexeter presents me with this prize. "The three of us had no trouble with her, my lord,' he informs me with a wide smile.

"What has you so happy?"

"She is unharmed, my lord. We had to knock her our though, but she is alright now. I saw her in town today. She is none the worse for the hit on the head we gave her last night, my lord."

"What is it with you and unnecessary violence? I said she was to come to no harm!"

It is very unlike Dexeter. He has been with me for better than three centuries. He was a bit on the insane side when I met him, but he was a rather gentle man otherwise. He only feared the powers of the supernatural a bit too much. I do not take well to being attacked, especially by an amateur vampire hunter. All the same, Dexeter has had no choice but to be totally loyal to me. Some of the old Dexeter comes through every once and awhile, and some of the time a great hatred comes through, and he gives me a slight defiance.

One of the other two daykeepers comes forward. "Maybe, at full initiation, we will understand your sentiment, my lord."

Of course, there is always that drawing desire to want the end of the cycle. It can make them all the more defiant, but they cannot harm me. They have to protect me. They don't get a choice.

"We each deserve it. We have each served you for more than a century, my lord," the other continues.

"When I win, you will win your request. If you push it, I will make your existence a lot harder and you will never know your goal."

"My lord," the three of them reply.

Dexeter grimaces. "She does not remember us, my lord. She saw each of us today, and she showed no signs of recognition to any of us. She does not even miss the article yet. She is dreaming, my lord. Another vampire is after her, and she does not fear his approach."

I look at him. The dreaming is the way of the rodent. I wonder if he is coming near. He must be. He only enforces the dreaming on special humans . . . ones he intends to make a vampire. I wonder if she is that willing? And to him? If she is willing to tread our world, I should see if she is the one for me. I shake my head. Business first. "Id there anything else I should know about?"

"The crazy one, my lord, she is still with Mistress Carmen, my lord. I saw her today in town." I smile. I never understood why the cat would let the loon wonder free like that.

Carmen was the name that the cat had the last time we met. I smile. I am certain that it is something different now. I smile. "She will be a foothold to work through Carmen with. She still seeks my fangs to release the crazy daykeeper." It is time to set in motion the plans to get the article of the cat. I am certain that she in possession of hers still. These things were important to her, and she always did seem to understand their significance better than the rest of us.


	13. Chapter 13: The Reunion

A/N: Okay, ifoyu have gotten this far, I salute you! Of ocurse, the lack of people reading this hasn't stopped me yet!

Anyway, the main reason for this note is to explain why Play form. It is an artistic statement on my part. In the world that this story takes place, it is forbidden to explain anything about Limbo. I have about five different ways that I have written this, and if I get kicked off of this site again for breaking the rules, I'll just go back and do one of the other bits. (I got introuble for a one word chapter! And I bet you thought it was something terribly naughty!)

BTW, for anyone who is reading this who has read the first posting. I did some changes from the original, and I have changed it back, because of some of the things that happen in later chapters.

Chapter 13: The Reunion

Limbo

Jonathan: I have changed my name as you have ordered. I guess it is all for the best. I should not shame my family name further by continuing out this undead existence under that name. Even in that, you must know best, my lord.

Minos: You have distorted your name as your nature has been distorted. Now you are to meet your companion and guide so that I may inform you of your task. Bring forth Misko.

Misko: Hi, Jonathan . . .

Jonathan: **YOU!**

Minos: You are to work with him. Like yourself, he has distorted his name as is the custom that he had started. He chooses this time to be called Frank Luceo Stoor, as you have chosen yo be called Alestair Johann Herrak von Feutton.

Misko: It is sure obvious that you have never done this before!

Jonathan: He's the one who started all of this! He should not be allowed to escape Hell. He belongs here!

Minos: You have no judgement here. He has done enough to deserve Hell. A special torment has awaited him for centuries, but his time has not yet come. He has this final chance to make his escape.

Misko: I made a strangely put repentance and screwed up the whole system.

Minos: You must work together. Misko has done more evil in his massive existence than you could ever force yourself to do, but I must abide by the divine law. I cannot send him to Hell because of that repentance.

Jonathan: I was confused and didn't have time to figure out what was going on! This fiend invaded my mind. Lord only knows what he made me do that I cannot recall nor could I control my actions.

Minos: Vampirism marks you for Hell. Vampires are condemned as unclean souls and may not enter Heaven.

Jonathan: But I did not want this existence! I wanted to escape him, but I was bound! He forced this upon me!

Misko: We all make mistakes.

Minos: Jonathan, we know what you did in and out of your freewill as does your master. Some of your victims even know. Still you lack an excuse for a repentance. You are not guiltless. Your death was slow. You had time. The only reasons you are here for this trial are because Misko requested your presence and we feel you will help him with this repentance. Misko, if you do not cease your taunting, Jonathan and you both will end up in Hell. I do not care that you have spoken a repentance or not. It is my job to decide the validity of that repentance.

Misko: Sorry, my lord.

Minos: Now I will tell you of your trial. The massacre of Weimar was left unfinished. The woman of both of your affections has fallen victim to another's fang.

Misko: Oh no!

Minos: You do know the meaning of this situation, and you know the solution.

Misko: You will condemn me either way.

Jonathan: If what he says is true, why carry out this misjudgment and let him return with me?

Minos: you should be glad of his return. It gives you a chance to escape Hell. Not everything has been sorted through yet. Misko might find his way to Purgatory. Something has changed in him since the last time he was here.

Misko: Purgatory sound good to me.

Minos: You will help each other. You need each other. Misko knows the rules. Jonathan, he will teach you those rules. And you, you will teach him about this strangeness he feels in his soul. Misko is confused at the path ahead of him. All he can see is dead ends in all directions. You will show him a path alien to him.

Misko: Things are sounding a bit more hopeful. It was rather irrational for my return if my fate was already sealed.

Minos: Understand, your fate is tied to Jonathan's fate since you requested his presence. If Jonathan dies before you, you will return with him. The both of you will learn whether or not you have won your reward. Misko, you may become worthy enough to fulfill the prophecy so long ago given you. If she accepts you of her own freewill, you will survive Jonathan. Remember, she must love you in her heart and soul, not because you threatened her or her loved ones.

Misko: I understand, my lord. Thank you.

Jonathan: Why should you find happiness?

Minos: Remember, Jonathan. The success of your mission will decide the fate of your wife and you. You hate Misko, but he knows the way, and he will not stray you this time, because he, too, loves your wife. He sorrows for her fate.

Jonathan: I don't quite understand your words, but I will try my best.

Minos: You will not remember this place, only that you have been in limbo. You will not speak of this trial to anyone but those who are deeply involved.

Misko: You are going to leave it to me to explain how to free her . . . !


	14. Chapter 14: The Meeting with Rafael

A/N: This is the last of the short chapters for a little while. I know 15,16, and 17 are a bit longer. Everything is set in motion now. so, hopefully, this story will be getting intersting soon.

I had to post this chapter real soon, because my other stories on Fictionpress are stuck on lucky 13 for right now.

Chapter 14: The Meeting with Rafael

Rafael

November 6, 2000

I have become most fascinated with this girl, who had the key to the rodent. So, I choose to investigate. I have been watching her over the last few nights. She is not like the other women that I usually go for. She is not exactly pretty nor petite. She does not seem interested in me or even notice me. She has been quite good at ignoring me. I wonder how I might be able to break through her barrier. Do I really want to put up such an effort for such a plain little Juanita? It may be intriguing to win her. The fact that she is not completely enthralled by me and begging at my feet for notice is intriguing. The pursuit of a woman's heart with some effort may be a rewarding experience for me.

I corner her in a store. She smiles at me and politely excuses herself to get out my way. She does not take the subtle hint that I would like to get to know her. I pull back confused by her lack of instant attraction. I recover, but she is gone. I find her, and she riddles her way through the streets with the familiarity of one who has lived here all her life. If I gave more effort to the pursuit, I could have found her, but why bother. I know where she lives. There is always another night.

The next night I follow her to class. She smiles and tries to avoid me. Maybe it is not because it is her idea. I have never been so ignored in all of my existence. I corner her again.

"I only want to talk to you. I mean no harm. You are an awfully hard person to get close to. My name is Rafael del Castille, Miss Carter."

"How do you know who I am?"

"I have my way to such information, especially when I want to know someone," I answer her with a sly and winning smile.

"What do you want?" she demands. Ooo, such spirit! No one ever challenges me!

"I have been wanting to make your acquaintance for some time now. You are a special person. I knew that the moment I came into New Orleans."

Her brow furrows and she asks, "Why did you come here then?"

"Oh, I am looking for my cousin. I think she came here to live awhile," I lie conveniently. Well, Carmen and I are both first link vampires. We are kind of related in that manner. "She has always wanted to come to New Orleans." A thought struck me, and I might as well follow it up. "Have you seen her? She is tall thin with dark hair and eyes. She has a very pale complexion. She has a definite French accent, and she travels with her sister, who is sadly insane. It is said that her sister was attacked by a wild animal that killed her husband. She has never been the same since."

"I have a new French professor, who sort of fits your description, but she may not be the one you look for. She says that she has a roommate, who is not quite right, but many people come and go out of New Orleans."

I think for a moment, then I remember the crazy ones name. "Lucy should be committed, and she was at one time, but my sister Carmen rescued her from the institution. I only want to help convince her to bring her sister back for the medical treatment that she needs."

"My professor's name is Camilla Hufner. She lives out somewhere far away. She is a very private woman, and she has no phone or mailing address that I know of."

"That's Carmen alright. It is how she carries on and hides her sister."

"Eccentric bunch, aren't you?"

"Sometimes. Ah, some of us are quite downright strange, you may say. But me, what is wrong with me?" I ask, feeling rather offended by her reaction to me.

"Oh, nothing. I don't know why you would want to follow me around and talk to me," she answers with a blush. Ah, I still have it.

"You have some problems yourself. You are quite a lovely woman. You only need to believe in yourself. Trust your inner beauty. I would like you to go out with me some night, because I really do rather fancy you. You are intelligent, and that does say much about a woman."

"Don't try and flatter me. I have had enough of false flattery in my life," she spats back at me, as she tries to escape.

I shake my head sadly. "And it has ruined a lot of you. I do not mean to offend you. Of course, I know nothing of false flattery. I guess, I may have given out some of it at one time or other," I answer her. I sigh and drop my chin in my palm. I will have to play this just right. I will ask her out again. I think for a moment. "Here," I say, as I scribble my number on a piece of paper. "If you should change your mind, I still would like to take you out on the town sometime."

I leave her. I don't know why I should go through so much effort to please this woman, but I want to. I guess I shouldn't question the way that I am, and besides, I like women who say 'no'. It is a new twist. The next night I follow her to school and back again. I will call her tomorrow night.

I send one of my daykeepers in search of my piece of power, that I discovered in my journals of the time. He is returning to Spain, and I hope he will hurry since I am drawing close to meeting with "Camilla". I will be glad to get this whole thing over with so that I can go back to the enjoyment of my social life.


	15. Chapter 15: Curiosity

Chapter 15: Curiosity

Dorothea

New Orleans November 10, 2000

Since I have met this Rafael, I have been so happy. It feels like I am floating a few feet off of the ground. He seems to care so much for me, and he worries far too much about that silly dream that I have had of late. Somehow I like that old fellow in my dreams. It is funny. I remember so much of these dreams and they are coherent. It is like he is really visiting me. Over the last few days, he has sat and told me stories of his past and his family. Although it is apparent that his family was none too fond of him, he did speak happily of the experiences. Some of the things he said, he had to think for awhile to finish his sentences. It was like he would be afraid to tell certain things. He also speaks very lively of a friend that he calls Alestair. He tneds to lovingly make fun of him. I think I might enjoy meeting Alestair, too. It is funny how a fiction of my mind can entertain me so. I will miss these dreams when they finally pass.

Camilla on the other side of my reality stands before us in a nervous sort of way. She plays with the chalks by sliding it back and forth through her slender fingers. Tapping it upon the desk, she loses her train of thought. A heavy silence falls over the room. She clasps her hand around the chalk. Snapping and crushing it to dust, she pierces her hand with the force of her fingernails. The blood, mixing with the chalk dust drips to the floor. She glances at the puddle on the floor and sways. She forces a smile.

"Excuse, me," she announces suddenly, and she practically flees from the room.

I look up from my classly doodles at Maria. My friend is as puzzled as I am about this whole situation. I smile brightly. "Let's see if we may help her," I suggest. I would never do this for any other professor, but somehow, I think there is more of a bond with this new one. Maybe it is because she is so young and close to our age.

"No. I don't feel like it," she grumbles and returns to the lesson.

"Oh come on. Don't be so lazy," I jibe her.

She groans, but joins me all the same. We meet Camilla in the restroom. Water runs into the sink mixed with her blood. She hisses with the pain. This action shows cat like teeth. I blink to make sure of what I see, but it is there. I have been reading too much! It is time that I spend a little more time in reality.

"Camilla," Maria asks, remembering our reason for being here, "Can we help you?"

She jumps and turns to us. Her black eyes flash. Why does her eyes remind of my dream visitor. Actually, Rafael's eyes. She closes her eyes and shakes her head. She turns from us.

"You could not understand," she answers flatly.

I watch her dry her hands, and to my shock, I find that there is no reflection in the bathroom mirrors. Maria and I are there, but there is no Camilla. I elbow my friend, who looks up. Her brow furrows. She sees the same thing that I see. Maybe, I am not as crazy as I think I am. After all, Maria is a bit more grounded than I am.

Drying her face, Camilla catches our curious stares. Her words break our attention from the strangeness. "Lucinda has been increasingly nervous of late until recently. Last week, she got into a bit of trouble and became very upset. Now she is strangely quiet. It is not like her to be so quiet after such a fit. It is preying on my mind too much."

She moves swiftly from the room and all the mirrors. We leave also to meet her in the hall. Maria speaks, "Have you considered professional help for her? It may prove to be quite helpful to the both of you."

The black haired woman shakes her head. "No. She is better off with me. I refuse to have her committed and tortured by those men yet again. She trusts me. I have given my word that no more harm will befall her."

"But they may be able to help her more than you can," Maria insists levelly and logically. "I mean they are trained in such matters. I don't think you are."

"No!" she insists, "My dark little hideout in its hermitage will suit her better. She will be recovering soon. Not all the time will there be the pain. He will lose again. I will see to it!" She clenches her fists and marches away from us. Maybe Lucinda is not the only crazy one under her roof. She pauses and turns to us. She points to the classroom. The wounds are no longer there. "Get back to class!" she commands.

We return to class with a thousand questions in our minds, but our concern seems to have wiped her problems from her mind for the time being. We cover up our knowledge gained tonight as we take the lesson. Hopefully, she does not find out that we saw something awry. Class ends with no more interesting occurrences. She does not stay behind like normal tonight. She returns to that poor roommate of hers at home.

Maria takes me home tonight. We keep silent until we reach the privacy of the interior of her car. Once inside, I ask her, "What do you make of tonight?"

"More like what do you make of tonight. You are the one who is into ghosts and goblins and all that superstitious mumbo-jumbo."

"Thank you. I have enjoyed 10 years of study of folklore, and it does have its backlash of an over active imagination. Things get quite weird in the mind when a Miss Camilla Hufner has black eyes, a thing for the night, lives in the backwoods, has no reflection, tends to heal a lot faster than a normal human being, and has nice long sharp catlike teeth, I certainly have a few thoughts of the nature of the unnatural."

"So?"

"Something doth stink in New Orleans."

"I am inclined to believe such a statement, but do be more explicit."

""Let's say we follow Miss Camilla Thursday night, and we can find out exactly where she lives or whatever you call it, then we can do a bit of investigating ourselves. Then, we can prove beyond a doubt that my imagination is out and on the crazy prowl again."

"You are suggesting we take my car and go chasing after ghosts? Not to mention, we will be skipping class," she replied slowly and precisely.

"You've got it!" I replied happily.

"Sounds exciting, dangerous, and crazy! I love it!" she returned to my surprise. Maybe Maria is as nuts as I am.

I return home, and after various things finished and done (not including my homework. That is best left to the previous class), I go to bed, where I sleep until early after noon. I dream of that strange man again. I said something to him tonight that made him laugh so hard that he fell off of the side of the bed, where he usually sits. Sometimes, he is quite cute. Maybe I am sick in the head.

Tonight, Camilla shows no sign of memory of last night. She carries out class in her usual manner. I find out the reason for her calm is due to the fact that Lucinda is on the campus. Unfortunately, I have no time to find out about this mysterious Lucinda. The last bus home is 9:05, and Maria is not here tonight. Not to mention, home is a long walk.

So, I catch the bus and think about Camilla and Lucinda. Sometimes, I think Maria and I should not pursue our aims tomorrow night. So what if they are not what they pretend to be. Big deal. Camilla nor Lucinda have done anything to us. The man in my dreams, who has still failed to tell me his name (and I always forget to ask him), strikes me as an unnatural creature, too. My head is too full of junk, but for one thing his teeth are very strange. Of course, I haven't thought about the reflection in the mirror in my room. We have never traveled anywhere in my room. He just sits on my bed and talks with me. Then again, what difference does all this make? Strange teeth or no, reflection or no, he is just a figment of my imagination and only exists in my dreams, right. How would I feel if he actually existed and he is able to enter into my dreams. Oh well, what do I care. He has done me no harm.

I arrive home and go to my room. I go to harass Sarah. We like to play chicken. Chicken is a simple game. We growl at each other until one of us gets bored. I either go off and do some semblance of homework, or Sarah swats the heck out of me and goes off to sulk. I daydream more than do any sort of homework. I finally go to bed at some ungodly hour of the morning. My male visitor does his usual visit. I am rather looking forward to his time. Sometimes, I don't want to wake from the dreams. I wonder if he knows that he is having this effect on me. I continue to dream of him into the early afternoon. When I wake I realize I have forgotten to ask his name and look for a reflection. Oh well, what do I care what I think he is?

I go through my day's routine until the time to go to Camilla's class. I meet Maria there. We leave the room to go to an empty room across the hall. Looking up and down the hall for any stray person, Maria shuts the door. She turns to me and whispers.

"So?"

"Lucinda is coming to campus with Camilla so I hear tell," I answer, "but there is no other strangeness to report."

"Maybe our imaginations are getting too wild," Maria admits.

"I wear a cross tonight," I confess, "I am rather curious at her reaction. I have a speculation."

"Try at every angle."

"Damn right! I do like my neck!" I answer.

"I had better not get in trouble over your silly superstitions! I am running for the top in my classes, and I will not be expelled for your silliness," she answers.

Never mind it was her idea in the first place, I thought, but that was Maria, and we have had a couple of days to cool our suspicions. "Then we can withdraw. I am only curious as you seem to be. I can live without knowing."

"We are going. I smell something. I have seen Lucinda. She is that cloaked creature we saw in town last week. I wonder if she is deformed along with crazy. I am getting more curious by each day."

"Then we follow them tonight," I answer.

Again Camilla is at ease. Why was she so upset Tuesday? A calm has settled over her. She has a warmth that settles in her normally cold hard face tonight. This is so unlike the descriptions that I am used to hearing about vampires, but, then again, the man in my dreams doesn't quite fit the description of the personality of a vampire either, and what else could he be with invading my dreams like that. Okay, I am jealous of him, because his fingernails are longer than mine, and so are Camilla's! Oh well, I wonder what has brought the change over Camilla in this way? Her beauty has not dwindled with the hatred of all living things. God is suppose to be on our side, and He is suppose to make these things more evident. Where is that flaw in her? She watches me curiously tonight. I wonder why. My hand touches that cross that I wear.

After class, Maria and I linger in the hallways. We keep watch on the mysterious woman until midnight. Finally, two figures leave the office. The smaller one is the crazy one from the town last week. She clings to Camilla like a frightened child. Her jerky movements put us on edge, but Camilla is unmoved by this as she leads the woman onward. We follow them at a good distance.

Outside a car waits for them. Taking in the sight and description of the car, we go to Maria's car that is parked close to the front of the building for a quick getaway. We follow them. Once inside her car, Maria tells me about her bit of research in this matter.

"Camilla's records were easy enough to find. She has Lucinda listed as a dependent, but Lucinda has no records. There are no photos of either one of them. The address stated does not exist, just like all those other tacky horror flicks," she states.

"But Lucinda does exists."

We stop the car as the one we pursue stops. Camilla and Lucinda leave the car. Camilla says a few words to the driver with a large smile and a wiggle of her hips. The car pulls away and she waves farewell. She takes Lucinda by the hand and leads Lucinda into the greenery off the road.

We quickly park the car and follow them long enough to find that they are headed to an old run down old house that sits on an island out in the swampy field. A weed pond stands about ten yards in front of the house. An island off to the left, there stands an old leafless tree hanging over the house in an ominous air. The black arms of the tree twist and distort with the wind as if beating the house. I realize, as we stand there watching the pair cross the swamp that only one pair of feet slush through the waters. Camilla must know she is followed. She wouldn't be much of a vampire if she did not. Still, she seems to take no precautions against us.

The next night, I meet with Maria. I am a little down hearted today. My dreams were the normal rubbish today. I didn't get to see my special little visitor. I already miss him. Rafael called me tonight. After all, tomorrow is my birthday. He is going to take me out tomorrow night. It is my birthday, and I will enjoy myself!

We return to the spot we last saw Camilla. It is only a quarter after eight. We should be able to do what we must before she returns. I grasp my cross as we walk the swampy waters. I wore the pendent all night and all day. I figured if I took it off I would forget to wear it tonight. We reach the house with quite a soggy sneakers.

A moment's hesitation holds us at the door. We are breaking and entering. Oh well, we do need to live a little, and nothing is found out by those who continually follow the law. I almost expect the door to open on its own accord. A chilled wind blows through the air to fill in that proper gothic mood. We look at the door. It has no locks on it. Maria reaches out a hand with a tremble. I wish I was as brave. She throws open the door and enters. I hesitate outside for a moment.

"Oh, do come on!' she hisses at me.

I move to the inside. No electrical switches can be found. I see Maria's flashlight beam, which is promptly joined by own. The vision before me is not that of what I would expect to be a vampire's lair. Everything is in order and not a spot of dust anywhere. Figurines glimmer back at my flashlight beam. Scattered throughout and at strategic places, candles and kerosine lamps sit. A fireplace lies in the living room and another in the dining room. Ashes are scattered before both fireplaces. They are still warm. The place looks like a normal lived in home, except there are no mirrors anywhere in the whole structure. One of the beds has been slept in recently. The covers are wrinkled and bunched. We find blood stained gloves and clothes in this room. Lucinda is at least mortal, but what kind of mortal.

The kitchen cabinets are clean and bare. There is no kind of food anywhere in the place. There are dishes, but they are clean and look to have never been used or at least recently. There is a table with four chairs. Looking around, I see no refrigerator or oven, but, after all, there is no electricity in this house. Leaving the room to stand in the hall, Maria whispers to me.

"She certainly eccentric but so what. You are a bit eccentric yourself, and I don't think of you are a vampire."

"Let's go before she returns," I suggest urgently.

"We aren't done yet. You know we must check the cellar before we leave," she points out with a hint of a sarcastic sneer.

"Don't patronize me!" I return.

"Who's idea was this?"

"You supported it."

"Will you be satisfied if we don't check it?"

"I guess not."

She goes to the cellar. I shrug and follow. Her hesitation does not show. I follow to be hit with the smell of wet cardboard and swampy mud. A grey haze hangs in the air as we see a room with several crates that are scattered throughout the large cellar. I want to go home. We check each one of them. My hand trembles as I find the crates are full of soil. I hear Maria gasp as she has made the same discovery as me. All the crates are large enough for the vampiress to sleep in during the day. Our eyes and hands do not deceive us. I really want to go home NOW! Maria needs no incentive to agree. We run to the steps. These old rickety steps groan under such forceful and heavy footfalls. It is times like these I wish I could stick to a strict diet! I, being quite a bit heavier than Maria, fell through one of the steps. The crack catches my ankle and won't let go. I cry out. Maria comes for me. We pull it free. It aches. I believe it is swelling, but no time for that. If I don't move, it will be worse than swollen. I run.

"Clutz!" I mutter under my breath to myself. I flee through the door. I trip over a body . . . the unconscious body of Maria, who I soon join in unconsciousness.


	16. Chapter 16: In Bondage

A/N: This is one of the more amusing chapter titles. "Whips, Chains, and Mary Lou" still out does it! Oh well, this is the end of the second part. The shape of this story changes after this chapter.

Chapter 16: In Bondage

Camilla

November 13, 2000

The last three days have gone well. Lucinda behaves well in my office as I teach. She is fascinated by this technology of the time like a child with a new toy, but she does not harm anything. She amuses herself with a new toy, but she does not harm anything. She amuses herself with the quartz movement clock I have on my desk. The electric light switch provides entertainment for her. If only I could channel this curiosity into receptive part of her mind, maybe she would survive quite well in this time. This is the only time I have been able to bring her around technology. She has always been caught too far into her time, but she seems to be so hopeful like soon the tragedy will end. I wonder what is afoot. I have always had to leave her in the backwoods place where I have always set up home.

I should leave New Orleans since Orlock is drawing near. He always destroys my heart. She always has interesting swings when he is near. She becomes quite hopeful, and then she becomes greatly frightened. I wonder what he is doing to her. His power is in the mind control. My existence here has been profitable, and I know Rafael is about somewhere. I must find him! I must find him before the villain finds us and take Lucinda to his teeth again.

His approach is making both of us nervous. Lucinda caused a bit of a stir in the town last week. Actually, it was after her last vision of Orlock's approach. I should not have allowed her to leave the house alone after that night. She had insisted that she go into town. She wanted to see where we were staying this time. I could not help it. She has explored every other town we've been to, and she is basically a harmless lunatic. So, I permitted it. When she came home that night, I found blood on her gloves. Murder would not be good for our stay or her state of mind. Somehow, I could not believe murder out of her no matter how deranged she is. She is a Nineteenth Century lady no matter what curse has been put upon her. I don't think she could bring herself to commit murder. Although I know this, it did take me a couple of nights to convince myself of that. If she started killing, it would be a sure sign that Orlock is taking over her mind with a stronger hold.

Lucinda is running down a maze that I accidentally dropped her into. She has ran down one of those dead end corridors and she can't help but run the rest of that course before she turn around and back out of it. In the meantime, I take her with me. She has slept unusually quiet over the last few days. She keeps her vivid dreams to herself.

I seat her at the desk in my office and turn the radio on a soft music station. She watches me and tries to imitate, but she cannot put the coherency together. I pat her arm.

"I will return in a couple of hours. We will have visitors again. Do not be afraid of them, they will not harm you."

She nods. She stretches out her arms and lays her head against the desktop. I do hope that no flute music occurs on this radio station. I would assume by her reaction that Orlock plays a flute, and any sound of the flute must frighten her.

I enter my elementary French class. Dorothea is not present tonight. What does this grey eyed girl know? Her friend is not here either. They may be finding a straight path to my nature. She and her friend Maria followed me home last night. Dorothea seemed to be suspecting me of something for awhile. I wonder what they are up to tonight. Oh well, so goes my office hours. I will have to return to protect my lair. I make a quick phone call to a friend to pick me Lucinda and me tonight.

Class goes well. I can hardly believe the brilliance of my students. I am glad that I am not needed by them tonight. I let them go home early. My friend meets me on time and take Lucinda and me close to home early. I look at Lucinda. She cringes back, but her terror is not at its worse. She rather likes Michael contrary to her reaction. I wonder how I am going to go on the hunt next week with her in tow.

At last, we make it to our stop. I smile and kiss Mike. Thanking him profoundly, I join Lucinda, who grasps my arm a bit too tightly. One day I am not going to take to this very well. I stroke her hand that eases her grasp.

I sense the presence of the two girls as we cross the swamp. Oh shit! I throw my arm around Lucinda, who keeps her normal terror in check. She should know what will be coming when I catch these girls.

I kick open the door. Nothing, but they are present. I stop Lucinda on the threshold. I put my finger to my lips. I silently move from room to room. Nothing. No one has touched my ornaments. I pause. A sound comes from the cellar. It figures! A step is broken. I move to the cellar door. The door opens. The dark haired girl, Maria appears. I knock her out. Dorothea appears shortly afterwards. She trips over her companion. I knock her out also.

Now what to do with them? They know too much of my nature, but . . . can I kill them? I look at them. Both of them have been my friends. They both have given her trust to me, but they know I am unnatural. Why did they have to know? I move their unconscious bodies to the dining room. I seat each of them in a chair and bid them there.

I hear Lucinda enter. S he moves to Maria and strokes her hair. I finish tying Dorothea. Lucinda moves to her, but she quickly jumps away. I shake my head. Lucinda moves to her again. Still she cannot force herself to touch the girl. With a third effort, she succeeds in touching her. The gloved hand pushes away the hair from her face. S he trembles and looks at her with curiosity. She let's the girl's unconscious head drop softly. Then she jumps away.

I watch my ward's actions for a few moments. She would not accept their deaths. Terror of them builds in her, but bloodshed would not do her any good either. I could feed on them to make them my slaves, but do I want this?

Dorothea groans. I cannot kill them. I could keep them bound here. I could feed them and keep them alive for the remainder of the semester, then I could flee. Maria awakes. I could hypnotize them into forgetting this whole incident, but that process is so risky that I would not be safe here. Any weird habits out me or Lucinda would bring them upon me again. Dorothea gains full consciousness. I pace. The other option is to leave New Orleans, but I don't want to think about that just yet. Rafael is here. I must find him. Besides, they could follow me.

Dorothea looks up and over at Maria. She smirks, "You are still among the living, eh?"

"But not for long by the looks of it. We have angered her, and I may not be a folklorist, but an angry vampire is not a good sign for our release and keeping our lives in tact." she remarks.

That statement removes any doubt that they don't know. My common sense makes a strong argument to kill them and be done with it. My instinct says feed from them. My heart says that I should do nothing to them and just flee this place. I sigh and shake my head. Why me? "What to do?" I mumble.

"Let us go?" suggests Dorothea happily.

Oh, if only could . . . I don't know why I should feel this way. They are are nothing more than mere humans . . . food. I have never hesitate before when the need has to arise to kill someone. So why is this time so much different?

"Not with what we now know," Maria speaks.

"I was rather hoping she'd forget. I mean, I could quite easily forget. After all, I can't remember a half an hour ago! So how hard could it be to pretend this was all a bad dream. Well, this actually would be one of the better dreams. Most of my dreams are incoherent babble, except of late . . ." she rattles on, then she realizes what she is doing and stops. She shrugs and continues, "Besides, who would believe us anyway if we exposed our discovery? The authorities would just lock us up in the luny bin."

I turn to her plea. Her grey eyes are wide and hopeful. "I have just arrived here. I do not intend on leaving so soon! This stuff is quite a hassle to move, and I like this place!" I pout. I am entitled to my immaturity as to what to do. I was quite young in becoming a vampire. "If I allow you two to live, I will be allowing two poisonous rats roam freely in my house, never knowing when their venom may reach my system, killing me. I could leave, but I am happy here. I have found a few male friends, whom I am quite fond of."

"That's not the Carmilla that I have heard of," Dorothea remarks.

"One does grow out of bad habits," I reply with a smile.

"The darkness lingers, and the blood drips from the walls," comes Lucinda's voice from the shadows. I roll my eyes. Not her, too. My night is getting worse by the minute.

I squeeze the voice from my mind. You would think after over 150 years I wouldn't notice her anymore. "I hate to kill you two," I say to the girls, "but there is no other way." I want to apologize, but for what? Being what I am? Bah! No. Still, I must grip my soul to do the task. I pull myself into the position to murder them.

Lucinda's gloved hand grasps my arm tighter than I have known her strength to have been before. "It comes again. The circle meets again. Why? London, Bremmen, Weimar, and so many others . . . now New Orleans by us. The bucket fills; life drains away. The slaughterhouse. We are born, grow, age, die at the fangs' end, and the dawn sets again!"

"Be quiet, Lucinda! I am not leaving!" I argue.

"They are whole. I was whole once. They live in the light. You are of the dark. I am of the shadows. Day, night, dusk, dark. All grey, all twisted; no more blood! Let not the blood rebel, escaping from its claim!" she goes on.

"You like it here as much as I do. I know you enjoy wandering the grounds. The water. You love the water. You like the university and the wonders that reside there."

"No more darkness twining. The sun, the lovely sun, shining bright in his domain! No, don't deprive them of the light dancing in their eyes and on their cheeks. Let the light of the box escape them. Let the light continue to flutter there. Don't steal it from them in our jealousy. No! Let the time of foot come again, if it has come, it has come. We will meet yet."

"If she is saying don't kill us, then listen to her!" Dorothea encourages hopefully.

"How can I allow this?" I ask logically.

"Do you want to kill us?" the grey eyed girl asks.

"Not really," I confess.

"Then don't," adds Maria.

"Yeah, like I'm not 25 yet! An I have a date tomorrow night! Tomorrow's my birthday, and our lives could be a wonderful present!" Dorothea suggests brightly.

I smile at her chipper words. I have lost my resolve. I cannot kill her. I cannot kill her companion. My shoulders drop. I will not feed of their blood. I cannot. Oh well, I never stay anywhere very long, and I would have to leave New Orleans eventually.

"Will you let me finish out the semester? I plan to return to flight almost mid-December anyway. We are pursued."

"They are catching up to Lucinda again, aren't they?" Dorothea asks.

"How do you know this? And it is only a 'he' not a 'them'," I answer.

"I have a friend. He says he's your cousin, but that can't be . . . you are about 300 years old."

"311, and I don't have a living cousin. What is your friend's name?" I ask with the feeling that I already knew the answer, but I need her to confirm it.

"Rafael del Castille. I did tell him you worked at the university, and you lived in the swamps somewhere. I didn't know that you were fleeing from him. Of course, I didn't know that you were a vampire then either, and I certainly didn't know that he was a vampire hunter."

I throw back my head and laugh. Given Rafael's plagued history, the thought of him and vampire hunters in the same sentence was more than just a little ironic. "No. He is the farthest thing from a vampire hunter. It is very uncharacteristic for one vampire to give away the existence of another vampire to a mortal. It is kind of an unwritten rule that we follow. But, you already know of my state of being, and I doubt if you even wanted to, you would not be able to destroy him. Yes, he is another vampire. He has been fleeing vampire hunters since the day he turned to a vampire, and he has done quite well in escaping them. No. He is not the one that we are running from. I wonder why he is still here. He has been trying to avoid meeting with us. It is not like him to have such a change of heart without some kind of profit involved."

Her eyes open wide. "Oh shit!' she exclaims as she sits up straight in the chair, "I have a date with him tomorrow night!"

I smile. "He is truly a pile of pond scum, but he will not force vampirism on you with out your freewill. He has other more entertaining flaws. We make very few vampires in our lifetime, and we make a careful choice before we initiate someone into our ranks. All of us except Orlock, and I don't know what he does. He is not quite all there from what I have heard of his past."

She lowers her head and mutters, "I like Rafael, but I don't think I like him enough to become a vampire for him."

"He is only courting you. This is his way. It will be a little while before he asks you to join him."

She sighs in relief. "Good."

"Lucinda and I seek him. We are fleeing Orlock. First, you must understand that Orlock is the cause of Lucinda's suffering. If you should run into him, you do need to fear him. As I have said, he is not quite all there. You need not fear me nor Lucinda. We really do not mean you harm. Watch out for Rafael though. Sometimes he does some weird things, and he will do what is most advantageous to himself, even if it is stabbing a friend in the back. None of us vampires are particularly concerned with your matters. As long as you leave us be, we will not bother you. Lucinda is not a full vampire and she sill cause you no harm. Even if she was a full vampire, she would yield at your threats. I doubt that she will remain a vampire very long. She has not the desire to continue this existence. She is a bit odd and crazy as a loon, but she will not harm you. So, you need not fear her."

The other girl frowns. "What of you and your actions here tonight?" she asks cannily.

"I have merely threatened you with bloodspill, but I have not committed myself to it. I will fight in self-defense, as you would you yourself when threatened with death," I answer her calmly.

Maria threw back her head. "Then we will call a truce till mid-December as long as no one becomes a vampire or dies brutally from you."

I laugh. Demands from a young woman, who is in my power. Yet, I really do not want to hurt them. Strangely, they are almost friends. "I only hope to get Lucinda the rest of the way into vampirism. I have no desire to create any other vampires. The less vampires there are, the more fresh blood there is for us to live on."

"Okay, we will call a truce," Maria answers, "We will not impose harm to you if you do not harm us or create other vampires. We really don't care how long you stay here as long as you don't create havoc."

"It is all Lucinda's fault that I behave myself nowadays. She is a pain to travel with, because she keeps my nature down. I haven't create any vast amounts of havoc for 173 years because of her, damn it!" I look at both girls. I sigh and shrug. If I am wrong in doing this, I know Lucinda will not let them harm me as I sleep, and I will reap my vengeance on them no matter how much she cries about it. I untie them.

Rubbing her wrist to reinitiate the circulation again, Maria looks at me. "I want to know what you are doing in New Orleans."

"I want o meet up with Rafael. I want him to move Lucinda out of her insanity and into vampirism," I reply simply. The confused looks I get tell me that it was too simple of a reply.

"What?" they ask together.

"It is a very long story," I answer.

"Then do tell," Dorothea insists with her arms crossed. All seriousness has entered her grey eyes. "I am curious as to know how Orlock falls into all of this, and what Rafael has to do with it since I feel I am deeply involved with at least half of all this. I am curious as to why is Lucinda crazy, and who is she since there are no real records concerning her, but you said something about having her about for 173 years, and that would be a might be suspicious in records. How many vampires are there running around, and are we to expect them all to come here?"

"You have asked a lot of long and very complicated questions. How many vampires are there? I don't really know. I have only met two others. Lilith is suppose to be out there somewhere still, and I am certain that there are more different kinds of vampires out there. Rafael, Orlock and I are considered a special kind, if you like. We each take after a different group of animals. Orlock, being the oldest of us three, has a greater range of forms, and he has the greater power. He is of the rodent type of vampire. He is the plague bearer. Rafael has the greatest strength. He is of the canine variety. I am the feline. I have the knowledge and know the histories. I am the silent hunter," I answer.

"So, we have met two out of three, right?" Maria asks.

"Yes. Lilith will not bother us here. We are below her notice. As for Lucinda, let me explain first. After she makes it into vampirism, I do hope to stay here in New Orleans. After all, I feel at home here."

The two girls look at each other. This was not part of the original plan, but I am the power here. Regardless, they shrug and answer, "Okay, deal."

"As for who Lucinda is, who do you think she is, Dorothea? You are the one educated in the ways of legends. Where do you think the name Lucinda Kerrah comes from?" I ask.

"You are Carmilla. Am I right?" she asks.

Taking a seat at a table, I answer, "Yes."

"You like anagram, am I not correct?" she continues.

"Yes."

"Lucinda is not an anagram, because you would have to keep her first name close to her own, or she would not understand who you were talking to. You would have to keep your own name close to your own for the same reason. Right?"

"Correct."

"But it doesn't make any sense!"

"You are doing well. Go on."

"But Jonathan Harker did not marry Lucy. It is a common mistake. Lucy was with the other guys, and she became a vampire and was killed."

"Trust me. Harker married Lucy. That story has a lot of things wrong. Not to mention, Rafael is still around."

"Tell your tale. I am quite curious to hear this out," Dorothea continues.

I take a deep breath to tell the tale from what I have seen and heard. I explain to show what must be done in the end . . .


	17. Chapter 17:What!

A/N: Okay, I have added a little improvement on this chapter, and I have fixed a grammical mistake en route.

Chapter 17: What!

Alestair

Somewhere in England 1870

I look at that villain, who lays in the tall grass. In the quiet dark countryside that we have arrived in, consciousness still escapes him. I hate that ugly pathetic thing that once pretended to be a friend in order to destroy my family and the people I cared about. I want my vengeance! What divine justice could send me back in this unnatural form? My lips and tongue continually move against the strangeness of those wicked long sharp teeth. My claws have already cut my hands more than once since my consciousness. Why? Why should divinity want me to return in this form? Why would God want such evil to exist after I have already died an unwilling vampire? I know my death was not a dream. My chest hurts far too bad from a healed over wound.

Even if our mission here is some sort of evil plot, why choose me? I am not a fit choice. That vile Orlock is most suited for an evil job, but I am not. I am not evil enough to contaminate the world with the plague and vampirism, and I am not pure enough for evil to delight in my corruption, because I am afraid to return to Hell for my just punishment for bringing the evil and death to the people that I love.

I look at that helpless form on the ground. I want to take a rock or anything heavy and bash his head in, but I cannot bring myself to do it. He has suffered in the return too. His claws are curled inward, and his body is arched in pain. It is wicked to want to help him and feel sympathy for him. After all he killed my family and friends. He tried to rape my wife. He made me an accursed monster of the night. Foolishly I feel that this ancient abomination feels the same kind of pain that I do.

His hands twitch and his darkened eyelids flutter. Still consciousness does not claim him. It is almost like he is dreaming, but that is not possible. I let enough of my anger build inside me. Clutching my palms with the cool thin blood running down between my fingers, I soundly kick him in the back.

He wakes suddenly with a hideous yowl of pain. Panting, he crouches as tears run down his pale drawn cheeks. He grasps his arms and rocks back and forth. He buries his face in his arms. His slightly audible sobs touch me enough to hold back any more of my abuse.

Why should I be ashamed of the pain that I cause him? I want to take him by the arms and tell him I am sorry for hitting him. I will not! He deserves the pain! He is probably trying to trick me again. I won't let him this time! I am aware of the truth this time, even though it is all more than I can believe. I am aware of his power. I am aware of his evil. I refuse him! I have never seen him cry before now. So why should I believe his sobs now?

Still, the quite sobs cut me. I cannot give him scorn. I cannot speak. I cannot act. I can only stare at his slight frail little body. He wipes the tears from his face and chokes back the last of the sobs. Sighing, he slumps forward and rests his chin on his folded arms. After a few moments of staring into the distance, he startles. He very quickly stands up and pulls at his clothes. He suddenly turns on me with a brightness in his eyes. I take a hesitant step backwards. A wide smile crosses his lips. He eyes me over. He reaches out those twisted clawed hands that had frightened me so badly when we first met. I wish I had paid more attention to my misgivings then and maybe my hands would not reflect his now. I stumble away from him.

He pursues me and succeeds in grasping my shoulders. I freeze. He pats down my arms. He takes my hands in his and grasps them tightly. He smiles wider and more tears roll down his cheeks. He moves my struggling hands to his mouth and kisses the palms. I try to pull away. He has had enough of my blood. He looks up at me with those bright black eyes.He pulls my hands to where his heart should be. Can such a creature have a heart? He squeezes them, then he let's me go. He clasps his own hands together.

"I am not alone this time!" he breathes.

"What do you expect, Orlock? You knew I was doomed to come with you! You requested my presence for your evil purpose. They granted me to you."

The smile widens on his face. I feel a cold chill run up my spine. ""I thought it was all a happy dream, my friend!" he exclaims happily.

I narrow my eyes at him. "Vampires don't dream!" I spat.

"We do, my friend. We do," he answers, "There is so much about vampirism that you do not know. You will learn. Oh, it will be wonderful to teach you all that I know! Oh, but come," he continues on as he holds his arms out wide, "Is it not wonderful to be free of Hell again! Is it not wonderful, my friend, to have someone to answer your words!"

Is that why he is so bloody happy? I frown. I would not oblige him by answering him at all, but I am so confused, and unfortunately, I must learn from him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Please, don't be angry with me, my friend. Let your kindness and care guide you. You will share that care that you have in your heart with me. I know you have some care left. I have found so much affection from your wife to you and from you on your own." I want to retaliate his babble so bad, but he cuts me off before I can do anything. "Alestair, tell me, what is it like to have so much care felt to you? When you have been hurt or when you have been beaten, what is it like to have someone to want that pain to go away and wished that it never existed? What is it like to have a hand gently touch that wound? A hurt must be a wonderful thing to you. She always came to you to make the hurt go away, even when she knew you were a vampire. What is all of this like, Alestair? It has been almost 600 years since someone has cared enough to wish the pain away."

"Shut up, Orlock! And don't call me Alestair!" I am Jonathan! Jonathan Harker!" I finally explode.

"Sh, my friend. You must learn to go by your chosen name of Alestair Johann Herrak von Feutton. Although it would be better for you to lose part of that name, but if it pleases you, then so be it. You will soon learn the reason for the name change."

I was never much for games, and this was quickly getting old. "Tell me now, Orlock!"

"Please, my friend. We must get used to the new names. Do not call me Orlock."

"Why not? It is your name, isn't it?"

"Not really, my friend. It was my name in 1825. Orlock is now dead," he answers rather quietly.

"What other God forsaken names have you had?" I demand, although I think I really don't want to know.

"Oh many, my friend. It is part of vampirism to have many different names. I have been a vampire for over 500 years. If I did not change my name, more people would suspect the length of my teeth and my most interesting diet. Of course, that is given that they don't come up with a more interesting depiction of a worse demon than what I really am."

"There is nothing worse than what we are!" I growl.

He smiles and shakes his head. "You have not quite seen evil, my friend. There are demons in this world that would make vampires look like angels. Of course, I always figured that vampirism is what you make of it. I was pretty rotten as a human." He sits on the ground and rubs his legs. "Anyway, you should be glad that you will not remain Alestair Johann Herrak von Feutton for the rest of eternity." He looks up at me and shakes his head. "I was never quite that bad when I chose my first fake names, but I guess I had more time than you did in the matter."

He gingerly pulls off his boot. I frown at him. "Orlock is not your real name?" I ask, although I figure I know the answer.

He looks his boot over and grimaces. He tosses it to the side with the other boot soon joining it. "No, my friend. Come, would you name your child Orlock?"

" . . . no."

He carefully pulls his socks off his torn feet. He gently rubs those pale scarred bloody clawed feet. "You would think that they could send me back with a better pair of feet. I will give you a valid piece of advice, my friend. Never become a vampire at age 60!"

I glare at him. He looks up at me and shrugs. I sigh and shake my head. This is more than I can take. "What is your real name, and who is Misko?"

"You have asked two questions that answer themselves, my friend."

"Huh?"

"My real name is Misko."

"Oh," I answer and think for a moment, "I wouldn't name my child Misko either."

He waved his clawed hand at me. "You are not Hungarian either, my friend. Tell you the truth, 'Jonathan' is not a very German name either."

"I don't care about your opinion of my name. I like my name. My father thought it good enough for me."

"I like your name, too, my friend, but necessity calls for a change. We have both died, and even though I sense that we are no longer in Weimar, we may be recognized for that fact."

"Yes, we are no longer in Weimar. I believe we are somewhere in England," I answer curiously. The place holds some familiarity from the time that I had visited this country. I can smell the ocean, and the air is laced with that familiar damp chill that I recall.

"I think we may be in 1850. Each time I have returned from Limbo, a vast amount of time has passed. The first time I was in Limbo, I spent about five minutes there, and when I returned, several months had passed. And you thought that they gave you a hurried version of vampirism, my friend. I was told just drink blood every one and awhile and stay out of direct sunlight! The second time I was in Limbo, I was there a little better than a day, and four years had passed. We were in Limbo for about a week or so, so 25 years sounds about right," he explains as if it was an everyday occurrence.

"I'm confused," I confess.

"Do not worry, my friend. That is how it is with Limbo. You never know how much time has passed. You have not missed much. People are just still as hateful and frightened."

"And just what is left of my family!" I cry out. Suddenly the vastness of my loss hits me. Never mind they would not accept me for what I am now, and I wouldn't want to know either. Elias would have gotten a good laugh at it all, then he would send me back to Hell.

"So, you have lost your brothers and sisters," he answers without looking up, "You have only lost the people who would have wished you harm."

I can't hold it. I hit him. My claws dig deep into his thin flesh. His cold thin blood covers my fingers like a water paint. I close my eyes and I feel dizzy. I feel bile in my throat, but the power of my anger holds me up.

"Your family would not have accepted you as a vampire, my friend," he answers as he touches the wounded cheek. He stares at the blood on his fingers then he looks up at me. "What is the problem with them not being around anymore? You have only lost those who would have wished you dead. They had more reason to want you dead and gone. You were another in the way of the family name."

I raise my hand and strike him again. I don't quite understand his logic in this. He cringes back from me with wide eyes. "Please, my friend, I do not understand your anger. My family did not mean anything to me. My parents really did not want me, and once I was here they wanted me to die. Please, my friend, do not strike me again."

His words only hold the pleading and confusion. Somehow I believe him. I hold back my claws from another strike on this cringing creature before. I drop my arms to my sides in defeat. I will never see Elias again. He would have really gotten a good laugh out of this. Here I am a vampire, and a rat vampire at that. That would have worked real fine with my fear of cats. My brother really did have a strange sense of humor, but he always did make me feel better in the worst situations.

Those quiet black eyes watch me. There is only confusion there. Could he really believe that I would not miss my family? I kick the ground and turn on him. A truce for the moment I will give him. "Let's get on with this mission. How is my wife involved?"

"I am getting old and tired. I say we rest tonight," he suggests. It is my turn to be a bit on the confused side. "Besides, my friend, my feet hurt something awful."

"What are you talking about, fool! Vampires don't age and they don't get tired!" I argue. Vampirism was not something that I was interested in, but I do recall some tidbits of information, and the whole point of the undead was never to age or get tired.

He shakes a finger at me. I pull back and frown. "You should have pity on me. I became a vampire at age 60 or thereabouts. I was aged to start out. Vampires get tired when we need blood. We have just returned to the living, and we need to go on the hunt." He throws up his hands. "Besides, my friend, I have just been resurrected from dust. You just got a stab wound."

A stab wound that I have not quite healed from the pain as of yet. I grasp my chest at the reminder. That dreaded creature stares at me with those deep dark eyes. I hate those eyes. I could tear them from his head. I drop the clasping hand to my side and anger fills me. He acquires that silly grin on his face. He is becoming that enigmatic vampire that gained my trust in the first place again.

"I hate you!" I turn from him. I want to flee, but where could I flee to? I don't understand what I am and what I am doing here.

"Do not hate me, my friend. Is it my fault that you just happened to marry the woman for whom I have waited for 500 years?" he asks brightly. The bile rises further to my tongue. I will see him dead again!

"I hated you as soon as you tricked me in the hold of the Demeter!" I exclaim to try and take my mind off of what he must have done to Lucy.

He smiles at these words. He opens his mouth to say something, but he shuts it again and shakes his head. He returns with, "Ah, but you must admit that I did find the medication I needed there, my friend. I certainly looked better after I took your blood."

I want to hit him again, but I have been violent enough. I have always known that he was proud of what he did then. He is right. He did revive the night after he took my blood, but why must he rub it in so? Maybe he thinks it was not a deceitful trick. I had thought him human at that time!

"Come, Alestair, my friend. Let us forget the past. I was alone then. You will not understand the loneliness. Come, let us be friends since we must work together." He holds out that twisted clawed hand that had frightened me so at first.

I turn away from him. "Leave me alone. You have no right to ask for my friendship!"

"I am sorry," he says quietly, "I guess you are right. I have no right to ask for your friendship, my friend." From the corner of my eye I see him as he looks at his hands for a few moments. Shaking his head, he pulls his hands back to his cloak. He looks down for a few moments, then he shrugs. Looking up at me again, he smiles broadly. What is he up to now? "Come now, my friend, I believe now that we live again, we might as well enjoy ourselves. This will be our Heaven!"

My brow furrows. How can one ever think of this as Heaven? How can he be so happy about all of this? Does he know how bad I want to send him back to Hell? "I don't plan to be here that long. I plan to find Lucy and end this horrid existence."

"Now, now, my dear Alestair! Minos knows that it will take us a while to find Lucy. Why else do you think this is a trial?"

"A trial that you are not worthy to have," I spit back.

"Please, do not judge me yet, my friend."

"Why not!" I yell at him, "You are the most wicked and bloodthirsty creature that the world has ever known!"

He stops short. He pulls at his cloak a bit as if to straighten it. He stands up to his full height, which is still a good 6 inches shorter than me. With a sudden grin on his face, he says, "Ah, but you haven't had your first true taste of blood yet, my friend."

"Oh good God!"

He looks me straight in the eye. All silliness leaves his face and his voice. "Consider yourself fortunate for this second chance at life. Not many souls see Hell and escape it. We are very lucky."

I frown and sigh. What he says does make sense. "What is our mission and how is Lucy involved?"

He looks down and away from me. He pulls at the hemming of his already ragged cloak. "She cannot die," he says in an almost whisper, "In a way, we are bringing death to her."

I aim my claws at his newly healed face. I want to do some major damage to him this time. He does not make any attempt to cringe, defend himself, or run. He is yielding. Why? "What!" I scream at him.

"It is true, my friend," he confesses.

Although I do not claw him this time or try to beat him, I do pick him up by the collars. "Why can't she die on her own? Why are we needed?" I demand.

He looks away from me. "Well . . . first off . . . uh . . . she is . . . well . . . she is rather insane right now . . ."

I drop him and grab his throat with both hands. "She's what!" The thin blood drips down my thumbs. He does not struggle. I must not be harming him enough. I want to break his neck. It may not send him back to Hell, but it would most certainly hurt him. "How! Why! When!"

He closes his eyes and swallows hard. My claws dig deeper into him. He places his hands softly on my wrists. I snarl, but I release him. He rubs his wounds and turns from me. He moves a little away from me. "Well," he begins, "let me try and explain. In my last act I was trying to get her to our side of life . . ."

"In other words, you bit her." I knew this. I already went through that anger while he was unconscious still. I only sense that something worse than his bite came along.

"Since you put it that way, my friend . . . yes. I was quite fond of her, and I still am. Anyway, before my work was done, I rather ended up as dust on the floor . . ."

"Try to keep your morbidity out of this!"

"Hmpf! Well, you see, the bite was taken, but me being what the maid was paid to sweep up, that left me out of getting Lucy into my possession with the second bite. That is a really hard task when your fangs are dust on the floor. Anyway, another vampire attack came through Weimar before the full effects of my bite could wear off . . ."


	18. Chapter 18: Explanations about 1827

A/N: This chaptere has been some modifications and whatnot. And actually, there is a much naughtier version. Anyway, the naughty bits were written by the boyfriend, so blame him! Anyway, Bill, I appreciate the edit job.

Chapter 18: Explanations about 1827

Camilla

New Orleans November 13, 2000

" . . . I came into Weimar, in which I quickly noticed the handiwork of my fellow vampire Orlock, as I believe he called himself at this time. I never knew his name before, nor did I really care to know it now. I only know he existed and what he was known for. So I planned to stop briefly in town, take a victim and continue my flight from my own problems. Considering how well we first link vampires get along, I had no desire to meet up with my much elder vampire. There were slim pickings left from the plague, and the blood of one who has survived the disease is unwholesome. Maybe that is not exactly the right word. We can live off of plague tainted blood, but the taste reeks with the disease, and it causes great pain to our bodies. One who has been fortunate enough to survive the illness has the same effect upon us. Also, as was his method, no one remembered the plague. He does have incredible mind control when he chooses to use it. The many deaths that occur are either forgotten that they ever existed or there is some new reason for their death or disappearance. That is why such things were not recorded in the history books.

"This search led me to Lucy. Somehow the plague wanted nothing to do with her. She was living among four others the same way . . . a middle aged man, his wife, their son, and another woman, who I believe was the son's wife. I could sense the fifth member of this family . . . Lucy. She was the weakest of them. I came to their home. Claiming that I had mislaid my step and being quite tired from a long day's journey, I was welcomed as an innocent youth in to their household at an odd hour of the night. My shyness and beauty along with my innocent youthfulness convinced them that they had nothing to fear. Thus, I gained their permit to remain. Lucy had yet to meet me. I found out later that she would not leave her room.

"I also learned from the man, Elias Harker, that Lucy had suffered the loss of her husband, his younger brother, two years before. With a little innovation, I found out that Jonathan had fallen into vampirism. This was no surprise to me, knowing that Orlock had just been through the area. Being a man of the age and not being in Weimar during Jonathan's vampirism, Elias obviously scoffed at the fact. This scoffing pleased me to no end. I could work in relative safety.

"Later that night when everyone had gone to bed, I went to Lucy's room. I turned the knob, but found it locked. I heard a shuffling noise and a cry of 'Jonathan'. I changed my form to that of a small long haired domestic house cat. When she opened the door, she stood before me as a haggard young woman of 32, who appeared as one of 45. Her eyes were red and raw and even more tears came at her disappointment. She smelled faintly of woman's blood, and was certainly in no mood to entertain visitors during her period of inactivity. Even in my cat form I shuddered at the scent, and that familiar longing drove me yet more willingly into the charade.

"I meowed sweetly. Her shoulders dropped and she gave me a small sad smile. She picked me up and carried me into the room. Laying on her bed with me on her chest, she told me her sad story. I felt like a strong 'why me' at this time, but being nestled in a comfortable place so near her throat and since I was so good at playing my role, I obediently listened until I could take it no more. I finally had had enough and squirmed free. I jumped off of her bed and returned to my human form. She jumped, startled at my change. I smiled.

"I invoked upon her my hypnotic powers, that I use to secure a victim that I don't intend to kill. These powers are rather faulty at best, and many times the victim remembers me if I am seen again. Lucy made a good victim in two ways. First off, she was considered crazy with the tales of her husband dying a vampire, and secondly, I was planning to leave not only Weimar the next night but Germany altogether.

"I crept with a light footfall to the edge of the bed, and sat down alongside her. Her pale skin well matched the sheer nightgown she wore, and her grey-streaked hair was spread haphazardly about her pillow. There was a deep seated terror struggling within her, though it was ultimately tempered by a sense of finality, as if she knew she was about to meet her end, or to begin a new journey where her Johnathan waited beyond the dark. I know now, but didn't know then, that she had wanted this all along, because she felt that I could deliver what the rat Orlock had merely promised.

"We stared at each other for a long minute. Lucy's breathing calmed and deepened, and she began to succumb to my unsaid desire. Finally I spoke softly, as if to a grieving sister. 'Your Johnathan was very dear to you, and you lost him?'

"And caught in the spell of my hungry eyes, Lucy answered 'More dear than the world and everything in it, but he is lost to the dark, and the old man is to blame.' A new round of tears sprang to her eyes. It was a pitiable sight, for tears do her eyes no justice, and I'm sure that once upon a time they would have looked out of place.

"'Of course he is to blame, Lucy. He was an old man in life, and he's still an old man now. He came to you and preyed on your youthful insecurities, your doubt about the future with Johnathan, your apprehension about growing into middle age, your fear of death.' I moved closer and let my hand caress her wet cheek and her hair. I saw the shape of her neck, and the covering of thin skin concealing a feast, but I resisted the temptation. 'Like most old men, Orlock does not love. He only envies, either what he once had but has since passed away, or what he never had and wants to take from someone else. He had a long life but never appreciated it, for he had no love, and so he robs from those he feels he is entitled to take it from. He took your future and left you wallowing in your age, waiting for death. Do you want to live?'

"Without warning, Lucy rose halfway in the bed and put her arms around me, nearly sobbing. 'This isn't living' she cried. 'Help me undo what has been done. I want Johnathan again, no matter how real or imagined. If I can't have him in life, I'll have him in death.'

"I lay her back in the bed and hovered over her, hand still near her face, tracing tears away with my fingertips. 'Will you cry no more?' I asked as I came near to her beackoning throat.

"'I cannot promise you that' she replied as her head sank into the pillow. 'Not even to Jonathan could I vow eternal happiness.' Then she turned her head and bared her neck, waiting for the intimate moment.

"I nuzzled her under her ear, near the raised artery that flowed with her life. I gave my first small kiss, but did not break the flesh. Lucy muttered something incoherent and her shoulders quivered in anticipation. Her hand reached up and stroked the back of my head. 'This is what you wish?' I whispered in her ear.

"She shifted her body under me to greet my touch. 'This is what I want' she whispered in return.

"A second kiss, slow and lingering, made her heart leap beneath her gown and her pulse quickened under my mouth and tongue. Still I did not bite. I took my time and moved to her forehead, her cheek, while her emotions warred within her. But desire won out and Lucy raised her head and parted her lips slightly, searching for my kiss. But I didn't bring her lips to mine, for I was self-conscious about my breath. When it smells at all, it smells of blood.

"A low moan escaped her when I moved to her chin and on to the front of her throat. My hand involuntarily went from her hair to her shoulder, then it dropped to linger over the contour of her bosom, and to the top of her gown, where my fingers deftly worked to loosen the buttons of her linen and allow free breathing.

"Lucy became aware of how close I had come to her matronly pride, and her eyes gazed down at me with shock as I tried to reveal the expanse of her cleavage. I planted multiple kisses in the valley between her breasts. Her shock became want, and she helped me open her top to pull her left breast free of its constraint. My goal was in sight, the place that would give me nourishment, though not in the way nature had planned.

"When I touched my lips to the top of Lucy's breast, she held her breath. I worked my way to the tip over slow agonizing moments. Then she exhaled strongly and with a grip that caught me by surprise, grabbed my head from behind and crushed me to her flesh. My lips and tongue circled and teased over and around her erected nipple, and then in a flash of mortal lust I at last made the bite.

"A small jet of blood spurted into the back of my throat before I had time to start suckling and I nearly choked at first. Smokey and pungent, if only I could be the child she never had, I could milk her forever. Waves of life and light came from Lucy, giving way to the slow marching oblivion promised."

I paused in my narrative. The two girls were intent on the story, and they stared at me slack-jawed with flushed cheeks and emotions of arousal written across their faces. The air in the room had become humid with an earthy, musky scent. Their combined hearts pounded quite audibly in my ears and their timing perfectly complimented the racing pulses, the heaving of young throbbing breasts against constricting fabrics. "It seems I have a captive audience" I said after a few seconds of heavy breathing in the otherwise soundless room. They didn't get the joke. "Have I disturbed you?" I asked.

"No" Maria lies, "It's just an exciting story, that's all." She looked sidelong at her partner in crime, but all Dorothea could do was to gulp loudly and uncomfortably rub her thighs together. "What happened later?"

"I left her half-naked unconscious body, playfully licking her blood from my fingers as I slunk out. I gathered some soil so that I could sleep in the room that Mr. Harker had given me. I pulled the shutters and the heavy drapes. I locked the door securely so that I would not run into any of the trouble with the morning sun.

"The next night, feeling much rested and stronger, I prepared to leave. I overheard the voices below speaking of Lucy. They claimed she had really gone off the deep end now. Her sorrow and babble about vampires had come to the point of incoherency and she no longer recognized her family. Not only that, the doctor they had called in said that by rights she should be dead. I thought it over and shook my head. Orlock could not have bitten her. We lose all powers over such peoples' minds after that first bite . . . whether it is our bite or another vampire's fangs. It is a failsafe against these things happening and us creating more vampires. How could this happen? I shrugged this off and decided I had to go on, and being the cat that I am, I was going to leave with my nose and tail in the air. I motioned for my feet to move forward, but they would not obey me. I found myself going to the woman's room. I had to know if they were right and my suspicions needed to be confirmed.

"I went to her room. My hand hesitated at the doorknob as if there was some foreboding there. Swallowing down all my misgiving, and still not knowing why I cared, I entered the dark room. She was laid out on her bed. She grasped a book tightly to herself. She stared wildly around the room as if monsters lurked in the darkness. Her eyes turned in my direction and she had found her monster.

"'Sh!' I hushed her, but it had little effect on her. I approached her slowly and silently. She screamed. I paused. I knew that I should leave her. Since when did I ever care about my victims? It was not my fault that she was crazy now. She'll only be a hindrance and probably be the cause of my own destruction. With all these things in my mind and the sound of hurried approaching feet, I grabbed her and jumped from the second storey window. Being the cat that I am, I landed on my feet unharmed and fled. My companion lost her book on the way, but what did that matter? Outmaneuvering my pursuers, I soon lost them.

"Finding a place to settle for the day, I got out of my new companion bits and pieces that, with the knowledge that I already had, made the story have more sense.

"Orlock, forcing vampirism upon her husband before reaching Weimar, had wanted her for his consort. On her side of things, she wanted to kill him to rid Weimar of the plague and to rescue her husband out of vampirism. I had not known nor suspected these happenings when I originally came to her. I just thought she was deranged. The taking of her blood was too easy. The bite was like for an unbitten person. She wanted this bite.

"Now, because I am the second vampire, I have driven her further into insanity, because she is forced between the alliance to two different vampires. When a vampire bites a person for the second time within a seven year period, that person becomes the complete slave to the vampire. That is how Rafael keeps his daykeepers. As crazy as this sounds, the solution to the problem is to bring a third vampire to her throat. This process will bring her fully into vampirism. This damnation of her soul will be better than what she is going through right now, and she will go through this insanity for the rest of eternity if this does not occur. Daykeepers cannot die unless the master dies. I am not willing to die for her, and Orlock has more lives than a cat. If I can get her into vampirism, there are ways to redeem the soul and save her from damnation."

Dorothea's brow furrows with concentration. Maria's look is even more sarcastic. I have told them the truth in all its glory. What else can I say? "That whole plot makes no sense," Dorothea states, "Not only that, if she becomes a full vampire, then a demon will take over her body and soul."

I smile brightly. I think she forgets who she speaks to. Oh well, I just shake my head. "You know, my dear Dodo, that the ritual of removal the head and the heart will save her from the demon. Lucy, here, will never be taken over by a demon. She will have her own freewill, and she does have the right to repent to her God."

"Explain yourself," Maria orders.

Again a smirk crosses my face. Does she know how easy it would be for me to kill her? I bet her blood would be quite good, then I could break her neck and dump the body in the swamp. No one would ever know the difference. Dorothea looks at me questioningly. Why can't I do what I want? Why does she hold back my hand? I yield to her demanding eyes. I can't kill her friend. I would much rather be that cold heartless beast that I once was. I draw in a deep breath. "Take Jonathan for instance. He was made a vampire by Orlock, who bit him all three times, right?"

"Yeah," the both of them answer.

"Orlock could easily control him anytime anywhere. It is kind of like being in two places at once. If Orlock was to die and Jonathan lived, then Jonathan would return to human. Orlock, like the rest of us, has the ability to take over his underlings at anytime or let them run free. Lucinda, when the third take her blood, will be herself. She has no alliance to any vampire, and we have no control over her," I answer.

"So," Maria points out cattier than I could ever be, "Why don't you bite her again and be done with it?"

I frown. It is not like I hadn't thought of that myself. If only it were that easy, I could go back to my carefree days, and be done with this dead weight responsibility. "That is the crazy thing about this situation. If I bite her, she will remain crazy, but she will be a vampire. This will not only damn her soul, but it is quite dangerous to life in general. It isn't that I care too much for life in general, but I do need to feed. She will also have a nasty ability to kill me or any other first link vampire quite easily."

"And pulling her alliance to a third vampire isn't going to screw her up more?" Maria smirks.

"And that's why you seek Rafael. He is to be the third bite," Dorothea mutters.

"And why can't you create the third vampire on your own?" Maria asks.

I narrow my eyes at this woman. Doesn't she think that I would love to do this! Damn this bloody restriction that Lucy has put on my soul. I would much rather be without a conscience and do what I please. Her blood has contaminated me. She was too strong of a psychic force and I should have sensed that when I was in her home! "Lucy would not appreciate it," I say aloud, "It would work, but I doubt her acceptance. There is still quite a bit of the old girl in her still. She can be quite good at putting up quite a fight when she wants to. Besides, what would I do with an underling? No, I'm not going to do that. There are too many vampires, and we keep trampling on each other's hunting grounds as it is."

"I wonder where she has gotten to?" Maria comments suspiciously.

"She is a nervous creature, who exists in complete terror all the time. She is frightened of most people most of the time. Sometimes she becomes brave and will walk among them, but it is normal for her to hide. Strangely enough, she seems not to fear you, Dorothea. I think she might be drawn to you even."

Dorothea smiles. "I am a strange person, but I am loveable all the same."

I eye her and delicately bite my lower lip. The atmosphere and the pull I feel about her is there. She is destined to be one of us. She is destined to change the way that we exist. I know this, and I even welcome it. I don't know why. I should be repulsed by the idea, yet I am not and I look forward to it. "There is something special about you. It is just a feeling I get when you are present," I confess. I can't tell her that she is going to be a vampire. Somehow I don't think she would appreciate that in the present situation. Not to mention, I don't need Lucinda to go off.

"You are the third person . . . well, the third of your kind . . . to tell me that," she replies.

"Rafael said that to you. But, you said three. There aren't many of us. Orlock? Is he still around? Is he after you . . . in your dreams? Am I right?"

She scratches her head and her cheeks turn red. "I don't know who he is, but I do know he is a vampire with what looks like rat teeth and all. I just figured that he was a figment of my imagination."

"That's Orlock alright."

"It is kind of hard to think of him as a destroyer. He seems so friendly and his personality is rather cute, but then again, you don't look much like a killer either."

I grin slightly . . . just enough to show a little teeth. "Do not forget, child! He is at fault for Lucinda's suffering. He destroyed her people, her husband, and ultimately her."

Dorothea shakes her head. "The poor girl and poor 'ole Jonathan," she mutters.

"Do not worry about them. It is you who need worrying after," I point out.

"Maybe it is best that I give into his desires. It may stop the killing."

"No more heroism! This why Lucinda where she is now. I feel your purpose in the way of things, but you must resist it. He is a destroyer, as I was, but let him wither! He deserves not what he wants of you. Deny him. I know you desire him. He works his evil through his charm, and you should also watch Rafael for that matter. Be sure of what you are doing before you agree to join us in this life."

She shakes her head to clear her wits. I have never met Orlock on a conversational term, but from what she has said does tell me of his charisma. We sit for several more hours in this room and talk like we were normal humans. The conversation does not follow in such dark terms, because the three of us are women. Even though centuries separate us, we have some things still in common. I get to flaunt exactly how close I was to Napoleon. Yes, there are advantages of being 300 years old in the body of a 22 year old woman. I never did regret my move into vampirism, and I still don't. We laugh and talk until just before dawn. Maybe the hint of loneliness is tugging at me? I hope to have such a night with these two again. Oh no, I will not soften like this! I must rid myself of Lucinda before I fall apart!


	19. Chapter 19: Alestair's Initiation

A/N: I have made a recent discovery that this story is on two folks' favorite . . . Bejamin Rockaway and Christine Erik! I am so happy! Anyway, you guys need to review. Christine, I will read your stuff once I get through "The Phantom of the Opera". It would help if I knew what I am talking about before reading your stuff.

I may still give up on Chapter 23 (or 24 . . . it's short!). Chapter 25 is a pain in the neck anyway! I don't know, but I do need some encouragement!

Chapter 19: Alestair's Initiation

Frank

England 1870 Day 2

The young farmhand that I have just captured struggled under my clawed hands. The hunt was good tonight. I usually can make a face to face confrontation and then attack and feed with no problem, but this method was quite entertaining. I hid myself in the shadows and stalked him unseen for a good quarter of an hour. I made sure I rustled some of the grass or snapped twigs to build his anxiety. I allowed silence to fall in the time between. When he chalked up my diversions to his imagination or some vermin in the field, I attacked him. The fear is strong in his soul, and it will make the taking of his blood all the sweeter. I haven't even added any encouraging remarks to enrich his fear further. I pull back and smirk to myself. It will be a good long time before he goes gallivanting around with the pretty young milk maids again after dark.

I have wrestled with many a victim in my existence. I am stronger than I look to the human eyes. This situation is really nothing to me or any other well seasoned vampire. Alestair is not a well seasoned vampire, but my show was good. Alestair shies away from me and my activities. I smell his fear as well as my own victim's. I cock my head and blink my eyes. What is he so afraid of? He has already been bitten by a vampire. It doesn't get much worse for him. We are the hunters this time, and he is not on the menu tonight. Looking at my companion's back ( . . . my companion . . . what a wondrous word. I have always hunted alone. It is still like some kind of dream daze to have him with me. I digress . . .) I notice for the first time what a disheveled mess his hair and clothes are in. I swallow down my misgivings. I must teach him to hunt and feed himself.

This is our second night back among the living. Somehow the weather seems to be more temperate and warmer, and the air is cleaner and smells sweeter. Of course, I have never been to England before. Yesterday, our first night back was a rather messy difficult day. Alestair let out all his frustration on me. As much as I would like to defend myself, I know I deserved the abuse he gave me. I chose him for my partner because he was a kind and gentle man, and I can excuse his violence to the fact that he knows that such injuries will heal quickly on me. Fortunately for me, when a vampire returns from the dead, the blood is very thin, and he doesn't feel pain as well as he should. The livelier the blood, the livelier we are.

Although I slept yesterday in a beat up state, it was worth it. I have never had the chance to wake up with someone there nor have I ever had anyone to show off my skills to. I sought out a place for us to rest away from the daylight. I had tried to explain all of the quirks of our existence to my student. I could not say he was an eager student, but he does listen. Never mind he calls me many and various interesting things in German. I must admit, out of all the languages that I know, German is the best language to come up with nice descriptive foul sounding things to call someone.

I led the search for our shelter yesterday. He complained briefly about the need. Things still seem unreal to him also. I wonder if it is the same for all new vampires. Having superior skills and being in a place where shelter was available, I was able to locate a cave for us to rest in away from the sun's deadly light. My companion did asked the obvious question about sleeping in native soil. I was so proud of him, and here I thought he knew nothing about vampires. I had to stop and turn on him. I blinked at him for a few moments, then the answer came to me. Vampires are most comfortable in the soil that they were buried in. True vampiric slumber comes to us in this way. There is no waking a vampire from such a slumber short of a wooden stake to the heart. Still the slumber enhances our strength and our powers many fold. That is why we bother. Pah! I am strong enough to handle what is coming. We can rest in any place as long as there is some kind of soil to our backs. Although vampires are the undead, we do need some sort of rest. A vampire body has many functions. Blood needs to assimilate into our own blood and bodies. I have many magicks I can use that messes with the minds of others. My mind needs rest from such strains as well.

I guess the non-vampiric slumber was alright. Alestair woke from his rest several times during the day. I guess I am not the best of company to have when he is having a bad dream, then he wakes to see me hovering over him. After several signs fo fear crossed his features, I received several more marks on my face and body. Still, I am none the worse for the violence visited upon me during the day. He will get better in time. I must be patient with him. I have thrown him into a worse situation than I had really intended. I certainly did not mean for such things to happen to Lucy. I need to remind myself of my good fortune. Warmth washes over my body and I smile. It was enough to see him curled up on the ground near me. I knew I would not have to hunt on my own this time.

The first time I came back from Limbo, I was unsure what to do. I was sealed in a tomb along with my ancestors and the rest of my family. I had out lived all of them. Well, my brothers and father had my helping hand to get them there. I found out quickly that I was able to go through walls. I was a different person then, and I just calculated that as a new weapon to my arsenal. I had no care for anyone on the outside. I took my first victim as vengeance for being locked up in that tomb. I think my victim didn't even know who I was. My second return from Limbo, I was fill with vengeance, and I not only drained my first victim then, but I destroyed his body as well. This time will be very different. This is the first time I have not returned because of fear or vengeance.

My victim struggles more and tries to escape. I pull tighter on his head and he whimpers. If I were alone, I would have already fed on him and perhaps have left a corpse behind. I need not kill my victims. I just do. Alestair clenches his fists, and my grin falls. What am I to say to make this situation better for him? I must find something to say to him to make this easier for him.

"Is he mine or yours?" I ask chipperly. A shiver runs down his gaunt body. He makes no replay. Silence. Perhaps the other approach is more appropriate. "Now, listen, Alestair. We have to survive this way. In order to survive, we must feed off the blood of the living."

"Why must we continue? Fate decided our deaths. Why do we argue with fate?" answers Alestair quietly. Well, he did reply.

"Fate gave us a second chance too, my friend. We must help Lucy. To survive to do so, we must drink blood," I reply flatly. "Watch and learn, my friend. I can be quite artful at this," I add as I flex my occupied arms.

He is an amazing fellow. We are incredibly pale to start with and he was able to become even more pale at my suggestion. He shakes his head nervously and closes his eyes. He mumbles something that I cannot understand, and I probably don't really want to know.

"Now, listen, my friend, it is the way of life! Something must die for something else to live. When you were human, you fed off of animals. Do not tell me that you were a vegetarian. I know better. Besides, plants have a life, too," I argue. He clenches his hands and scrunches his face. I do not understand, but I must find an argument suitable enough for him to listen. "Do not condemn this existence because of how we feed. He will not be harmed nor will he be one of us through just one bite. Come, what is wrong with this survival?" Besides, blood is a fine delicacy.

The answer to my own question as to why the taking of the blood is evil has always eluded me. True, Lucy is suffering from what I have done, and Alestair got the whole works. He would not have fallen to any harm if I had left it at the one bite. Instead, he would have found a way to kill me. Anyway, I see the drinking of the blood as one of my lesser evils. It does appear quite small to all the killing and the spreading of the Black Death I have done.

"He is my own kind! It is not right! It is cannibalism!" he cries out.

You know, I have never thought of this feeding as cannibalism. Leave it to him to explain it all! I smile at his reply, and I even have an answer for him!

"Alestair, my dear boy, you are no longer human. Your teeth are a bit too long and sharp for that now. You are a vampire, and you will be a vampire for the rest of your existence. There is no way out. So, enjoy yourself while you can!"

He clenches his fists tighter and swallows hard. "I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't."

I manage a shrug with my captive still in hand. "So am I. It isn't that big of a deal once you get used to it, my friend."

"What have I done?" he demands, "You are the one who did all the evils! You deserve this damnation!"

That hurt! I know that his damnation is different than mine, but it still hurts. "Quit judging me and accept my help. That's what I am here for."

Finally, he turns to me fully and cries out, "I don't want your help!" My captive, upon seeing my companion's pale angry face in the pale full moonlight, renews his struggles under my grasp. All the anger Alestair has towards me falls away. "Let him go," he pleads.

"No!" I object, "I need to feed. You must learn even if you don't want to. I will allow you this one. Take him."

"No!" he rejects loudly and violently. There is a muffled terrified cry from my companion. Yes, my boy. I am not the only frightening thing out here.

"Damn it, Jon!" I return. How easy this all would be for me if I just take over his mind and force him to do this. I sigh. I was always the one to take the hard way around everything. Not to mention, when I was granted this chance to return with him, I vowed to stay out of his mind. "Do as I say! I am only taking this much pain with your fanatical objections and your stupid arrogance because I hate what I have caused to happen to your wife. If you feel anything for her, you will learn to do this."

Alestair glares at me with all the hate that he can muster. I stand my ground. I have seen worse hatred. Slowly he lowers those deep brown eyes of his. "What must I do?" he relents almost inaudible.

I have never taught a vampire this action. I kind of thought that it came naturally. What do I know? Alestair is the first person that I have made a vampire . . . well, a vampire that I intended to keep around and alive for any length of time. Personally, no one taught me how to be a vampire. Trial and error was always my method, and it still is. I draw in a deep breath and give him his answer.

"Make the ruffian look into your eyes."

"How?" he objects, but the yield is still there.

"Well, physically would help since my hands are occupied and I seem unable to make him look up."

Alestair pauses for a moment, then he forces himself forward to my captive who, being the bright boy that he is, could figure out what we are planning to do, although I sense he does not understand our language. Well, maybe he cannot figure it out, but he knows it is not good. Still, he acts properly for the situation and bites deeply into the flesh of my hand at his mouth. Now, contrary to popular thought (present company included), I do feel pain, but because of the lack of fresh blood in my body, it is a pain that I can well and easily ignore. Alestair swallows hard. He moves his hand to touch the boy's face, but he pulls away suddenly. He looks at me questioningly and opens his mouth to speak, but he has no voice. He looks away, then he turns back to the boy. He shakes his head, then moves his hand hesitantly back to the boy's face. He pauses, square his shoulders, then he grabs the boy by the hair and forces him to face him. The contact of their eyes makes the boy slacken his resistence. I gratefully let go and shake my wounded hand. Does he know that he is not the one who is suppose to be doing the biting here?

So, now my companion has achieved step 1. Now is the time to move to step 2. "Make him expose his neck."

Alestair sways in indecision. He swallows again, and the determination fails him. "I can't!' he cries out, losing all control he had over the boy. He turns his head away. I grab the boy and tackle him before he can fully flee.

A low growl rumbles my throat. "One more trick like that, and I'll feed and leave you!" I retort. Is all of this worth having an underling . . . a companion. "Take hold of him again. Please, for my sake."

"I don't give a damn about you!" he bursts out, "I care about this young boy a hell of a lot more than I do you!"

I look down. "I know," I answer quietly, "I am sorry. The mind wanders. Please, my friend, do this, if for no other reason then do it for Lucy's sake," I say in hopes of smoothing over my earlier mistake, "Just bite him and get it over with. I am certain that this young man would like some sleep."

Alestair shakes his head. He places his hands on either side of the boy's face. He gently but firmly forces the boy to look up at him. He orders the boy to unclasp his collar. A fine gold colored chain with a cross as a pendant hangs around the boy's neck. Alestair hesitates and looks to me for help. If the situation was not so grave, I would have smiled at the question.

"Force him to remove it," I respond.

"How?" he argues, "It is a weapon against vampires."

"On the first bite you can make him drop his guard. It is the second time that we have no mind control over the victim. God despises us, but He does not make it impossible for us to survive. Nor does He leave His children defenseless against us."

"But . . ."

Alestair trembles, if not as more frightened, then as frightened as his victim. I touch his arm. I remember well my fear of the cross. The fear was quickly and nervously chased away when a certain vampire waited twenty days between victims! "Have confidence, my friend."

He squints his eyes and draws in his lips. He allows a heavy sigh to escape him. He, with trembling lips, orders the boy to remove the cross. The young fellow, having no choice but to obey, unclasps the pendant. Allowing it to fall to the grass, he offers his neck up. The fear is long gone from the boy's body. The knowledge of his surroundings is totally gone.

Alestair shuts his eyes tight and tries to pull away. "No!"

I insist. Taking his arm firmly into my hand, I say, "You must!" His eyes open a crack, as I put my fingers to the prone boy's neck. "The jugular, as I believe you call it, my friend. Bite him there."

I bit the wrong one the first time. I could not control the blood flow and it splatter all over me. What a waste of good blood, and it certainly did nothing for my attire. I got better. I allow the boy's arms to fall as I back away to allow my student to get on with it. Alestair does not move. I allow this to continue for a few moments. He stares at the boy and opens his mouth to complain. The hunger for the blood must be gnawing at him. How can he refuse for so long? It is taking much of my will power to keep from biting our victim myself.

Yet, his pleas cut me. God knows that I do want to tell him that he does not have to do this, but his life force needs to stay attached to his body. This is what I want. I take in a deep breath and push Alestair to the boy, who has not have awakened from the spell, thank goodness and everything else out there. I enforce the spell with my own power. I move my hand through his stiffened matted brown hair. "It will be alright, my friend." He still does not move. I gently push him forward into the boy. His face muzzles the boy's neck.

I pray very rarely, but I utter a plea to God. Rarer than my production of prayer is an actual reply. Alestair is taken over by his nature. He closes his eyes and trembles. He takes the boy's shoulders. His mouth opens to reveal those long rat like fangs that my bite gave him in 1825. He tries to pull away, but I hold him firmly to the task. I may not be quite as strong as him, but my long years of vampirism gives me strength and determination to see this job done.

His struggles settle down. His teeth touch the flesh. He pauses. Tears roll down his shallow cheeks. Finally his teeth break the flesh and sink deep into the boy's vein, who slumps to unconsciousness right away, which is a special talent and normal for our kind of vampirism. Alestair and Lucy were special in that they did not fall unconscious right away after I cut their flesh and vein with my teeth. Still, alestair does not suck the blood forward and drink. Instead, he still tries to pull away.

"No!" I exclaim, "You must drink! You are committed now. You will kill him if you don't continue! There is no turning back now! Drink!"

The tears come stronger and heavier. The blood from the wound comes to his trembling lower lip. His vampiric nature takes hold of his body. He feeds at last. I watch silently as life flows back into his body from his victim. Color flows back into his face and his cheeks gain some form. He almost appears again as th man that I originally met in 1825. Finally, I squeeze my underling's arm to let him know that he is finished. I allow the boy's body to slump to the ground. Looking up, I see the expression of my disheveled companion. He is frozen. Blood starts to dry on his gaping mouth. I rub his arms and smile brightly at him. "Lick your lips, my friend. I am disgusting enough about our diet without any incentive."

Alestair does not respond to my remark. That may be for the best on my part. I dig through my ragged clothes to find a handkerchief and wipe the blood from his lips. He still does not respond. I stroke his hair from his face to feel his now warm flesh. Still he does not respond. Is it really this difficult for a new vampire?

"It had to be," I console, "He will be alright. I take it is hard to accept. I myself got into this business by choice. I really had no qualms about the blood and the violence. Come, my friend. You did alright. You are fed and he still lives. It will get easier. You will see. He will not remember any of this." I hope. Normally, the victim does not remember the vampire, but we did take awhile, and he did lose control over him. "Come, my friend. We must find shelter. Who knows, I might find myself fed tonight also."

"I don't want to continue," he croaks, "Just let me crawl off somewhere and die."

I take his warm clawed hands into my cold clawed hands. They feel so comfortable there as if I could leech off the warmth, but I will soon remedy that. "You must, my friend, for Lucy's sake and now for his sake. After all, you have about two and a half weeks to live off his blood, and you have taken it and you might as well use it."

"The choking?"

"Yes, he will suffer that, too come morning." I never understood why my victims, if they got to survive, always had a hard time breathing and choked most of the new day. I guess it has to do with the length of my fangs compared to the other vampires that I have heard of. "Come, my friend, let us leave this place. Do not worry. Everything will be alright."

We leave at these words. I feel Alestair's pain of mind. I do not know how he will live. I do not know why I am always wrong, but he is what I wanted. Oh, Lord give me the words that will make him feel better. God is no longer listening to me, because my tongue lies heavy in my mouth.

Suddenly my senses pick up another human. I will feed tonight! I smile widely, showing off my long fangs to my otherwise occupied companion. It is really best not to tell him of the hunt that I am about to undertake. I take up his warm hand and pat it reassuringly.

"Stay put," I say, "If I do not return in . . . oh, say a half an hour, continue your search for shelter. I will be back quickly."

My comrade nods. His thoughts are not to my venture. I leave him and go about my stalking. A ragged old man staggers into my sight. The strong smell of intoxication reaches my insulted nostrils. It was fine when I was mortal, but now it distorts the natural flavor of the blood. Blagh! The pain that streaks through my blood starved body tells me to be less finicky and feed. So, I continue my stalking. I overcome my prey quickly and easily and without much of a struggle. No incentive is needed from my companion, who is thankfully out of sight of this scene, to make me take this man's blood. The only second thought I have about the whole thing is how bad the man's blood tastes.

Finally, I return to my troubled friend. The distance in his deep brown eyes make me wonder if sanity is still with him. I grasp his hand, but he pulls away from me. He screws his eyes shut and shakes his head. "You've fed!" he exclaims.

"Yes," I confess.

"Two! We have destroyed two people tonight! It is not right! But we must! OH God! Why? We can't!" He cries out.

"Sh, my friend. They are alright. They are just unconscious for the time being. Come, we must find shelter," I say as I grab for his hand, but he not allow it.

He shakes his head. "No. I will not continue this massacre. Let my soul die and return to Hell before I make a Hell on Earth also. Let me die!"

"Alestair, calm down, my boy. It is not that bad. Please, come on. Time passes. We must find shelter before sunrise." I pull at him with a sense of urgency, but his feet are planted firmly on the ground. He is determined. I cannot get him to move. I stop and turn to him. "Please, my friend."

He pulls away from me. The wildness in his eyes tells me that he is about to run. I grab both him around the waist. He shakes his head and struggles with me. He wiggles one of his arms free and hits me hard across the mouth. Now that I have fed, this is no pleasant experience. Not only that, my own blood runs into my mouth, and I have terrible blood. I won't let go. There is no telling what will happen to him if I did.

"Please, Alestair. We must go on."

He breaks free of my grip and runs. He is younger and faster than me, but I have been a vampire for a long time, and I know much of my power. With a little inventive use of them, I am able to catch him. He continues to fight with me, but I must subdue him. I manage to get hold of his head and force him to face me. "Do not think of it again!" I order in a firm unwavering voice. I hate to do this again. How true can I be to my word, if I go and break it in the first couple days of my return. How can I do this again after what I did to him in 1825 by way of my power. I stroke the hair out of his blank face. I have no choice. The night is old. We must find shelter. What else can I do.

Alestair ceases all struggles at my command. He says nothing. "We will take about it tomorrow night, my friend," I promise him, "Let us just find shelter now."

At least I am not making him do something against the very essence of his soul. Well, I guess it sort of is, but he can live with himself afterwards. It is not quite like what I made him do in 1825. If he finds out to the full extent of what I made him do then, I will not get to have much of a vampiric existence. He will not be hurting anyone this time. I should quit making excuses. It is not right no matter the reason.

I lead the search for shelter. We find an underground cavern. Fortunately, we arrived in an area with hills and as before mentioned, I am quite good at finding such places. We can at least rest there and have shelter from the sunlight. I would prefer my own coffin and my own soil, but this not the time or place to be choosy. Alestair falls to the ground and goes into a deep sleep. He does have many wrong ideas of vampirism. He is learning and he will learn more. He is new at this I must remember.

I unclasp my cloak and put it over him. "It will be better tomorrow," I say while I tuck him in. I stroke his hair. "You will remember tomorrow night, and we will fight it out tomorrow night."

I take to my feet and stand in the middle of the dark earthen place. I rub my sore jaw that is almost healed again, and I realize the magnitude of the job ahead of me. I must teach him everything I know. Tonight's lesson was the hardest one on the list for my young companion. Everything else is secondary. I cannot help but smile. I do not mind the task. I actually look forward to it. He may not particularly like me, but he is not a dream. He is really here. I can speak to him, and he will reply.

I walk to the other side of him. I rummage through my clothes to find that good 'ole Minos has sent my flute back with me. I have always managed to reclaim it upon my return. I sit in the corner and place the fine silver instrument to my lips and play a soft melody. The night dies to the sun's rise, but I cannot rest. I will survive it though.


	20. Chapter 20: Dorothea's Birthday

A/N: Thanks to Bill for beta reading this.

Chapter 20: Dorothea's Birthday

Dorothea

November 14, 2000

I try to make sense of last night's events. I could try to convince myself that it was all a messed up dream. My swollen sprained ankle tells me quite obnoxiously otherwise. I try to shake off the words and actions of last night, but it keeps returning to me. I sleep late into the day. I didn't get home until after daybreak. To show how much I care for Camilla's warning, I eagerly awaited for Orlock's return to my dreams. I cannot think of him as the evil monster that he is supposed to be. At least he is interested in me. I am rather flattered that I am to be the center of these events. It makes me feel special instead of the ordinary little thug of life. No matter what Camilla has told me and what I might know of this vampire Orlock, I feel that something has made a change in him. Maybe he is the vampire that spreads death, disease, and destruction, but he makes no effort to scare the wits out of me. He makes no threats. I have no marks on my neck. There is no news of the plague. I know that I am usually the last to know anything, but the return of the plague would even reach me.

I wake in the mid-afternoon. He did not come into my dreams. I wonder why not. Maybe he knows that I know what he is and who he is, and he thinks that he must be more careful of his approach. I sigh and go about my daily chores. I think of him off and on through the day and some of the things that he has told him. I miss him.

Late in the day, I make myself ready for Rafael. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. If I end up a vampire, the reflection would be no big loss. I don't know why Rafael would be so interested in me. I am certainly no beauty. At best, I am plain. I feel that I may be a pawn in some warped game. If nothing else, I am part of some cruel joke. He strikes me as the type that would enjoy such a joke. I am too strong for that kind of hurt, and I will not let my guard down around him.

I stare at my reflection longer. I frown. It is disgusting to think that I would much rather be going out with Orlock than this dashing handsome vampire. I feel that the old rat's affections are true. At least he makes me laugh. Rafael is more of the normal kind of good looking guy, who has all the modern ideas of romance and all that stuff. Orlock just talks romantic, and he is so nervous of me. I wonder how true he is to that appearance that he puts up. I giggle. I think he is kind of cute. I guess I am over the shock, if there ever was any shock, of the twisted ugly figure that sits at the foot of my bed. I really should not be ashamed to admit my feelings to my friends. I am me. I should not worry how Maria feels about it. It is not her that I am trying to please, but I always fear that she will think me weird or something.

I dress myself in my fanciest and prettiest dress, which compliments my figure by hiding its imperfections. I take off the cross that I have been wearing the last couple of days. I feel that I don't need to be afraid of Rafael, so I won't aggravate him. He is still stalking his prey anyway. Besides, what do I care if he makes me a vampire? As long as he still cares for me, and I would guess that Orlock would still be friends with me. I would not be much worse off either way, except the diet would most likely make me a bit sick . . . granted I could stay conscious long enough to shed blood. When I cut myself, I tend to want to pass out from the sight of my own blood. That could prove quite a funny story . . . a squeamish vampire!

I end up waiting 15 minutes for the dashing vampire suitor. Why is it things always finish themselves 15 minutes before time or 15 after time? 15 minutes is too long to wait, and it is too short of a time to do anything constructive. At last he comes, while I am pacing the floor in anticipation. He has come in an impressive limousine. My jaw drops with the shock of a vampire being chauffeured around in a limousine and the idea of the immense wealth of this fish that I have hooked. I guess vampires are normally independently wealthy creatures. It would be hard to hold a day job, now wouldn't it? Oh well, mother always said to find a man with wealth. She should be suitably impressed with this fellow. I know she is watching. I wonder how she would feel if she knew of his interesting dietary habits.

He comes to me and kisses my hand with his cold lips. He looks me over and smiles. He escorts me to the limousine, which is driven by the man that I recognize as the one who gave such harsh words to Lucy in town a few days back. Oh well, after all he is not quite human and he's not quite a vampire yet either. So, I guess he is entitled to be rather pissed off. Rafael gives him a few instructions, then he joins me. Taking my hand in his soft cold hand, he looks into my eyes and smiles. I feel my face grow warm. What a time to be blushing!

He takes me to one of those restaurants that one can't pronounce the name of and they don't put the prices on the menu for good reason. Rafael does the ordering, because my French is not up to snuff. For one born and raised in New Orleans, I have really no grasp of the French language. Oh well, I don't really think I want my French to be all polished and perfect. The French are a peculiar people, and I really don't want to know what I am eating. I am ceratin that I am better off that way.

Rafael makes a toast to me in a flow of fancy Spanish words. I understand enough of it to be terribly flattered and my face flushes a deeper red. The way he acts tonight makes me wonder at how true Camilla's words are. He eats and drinks like a normal person. Aren't vampires unable to eat normal food? He flirts with other women in the restaurant. Apparently, he knows these women. Who am I to argue? I don't really know him well enough to be properly jealous.

After a fancy dinner, we go to a musical play. We talk very little. Somehow I think we have little in common, but I will hang in there. What the hey! I feel terribly uncomfortable, but I will survive this ordeal. I may eventually come to accept it and enjoy it. He takes me home afterwards. This is the only time we really get to talk. After a long drawn out explanation that he is not crazy, he admits to me that he is a vampire. He does not act at all surprised when I tell him that I already know.

"I thought Camilla might tell you," he answers, "We don't exactly get along."

He explains his relationship with Camilla. It is an interesting relationship to say the least, but it is nothing for me to be too terribly concerned with. His talk only tells me that I am dating a man who is a bit too full of himself. In my recent experience with vampires, this seems to be a standard for their personalities. Even Orlock shows signs of being overly proud of himself. Can I live with this flaw in Rafael? Perhaps. He is awfully damn good looking. I guess most men who look the way he looks have the right to be arrogant. He finally kisses me goodnight and goes on his way.

My mother has already gone to bed. Good. I don't feel like discussing it. I am tired and these clothes are most uncomfortable. So, I undress and throw myself in bed. I am almost asleep before my head hits the pillow. Sleep is deep and good. I am out for awhile, and I know it, then Orlock appears in a dream. He runs to me a embraces me tightly. I struggle and pull away from him. Even if he really isn't here, it can't be too good to have a vampire that close to the neck. Tears roll down his face, and he wipes them away on the sleeve of his coat.

I sit up straight and cross my arms. Glaring at him with as much mock anger that I can produce, I pout. "I thought you had abandoned me!"

"I could not approach you, my lady," he answers. He cheeks turn red and he shakes his head. "What difference does that make. I am here again, if you permit it. I will go away if you wish it so," he adds, as he shifts his weight from foot to foot and fingers that hat of his.

"No way!" I complain, "I look forward to your visits."

He gives me an expression on his face that says, if he could, he would jump out of his skin with joy. What a mess that would be. He smiles widely, and his cheeks remain an amazing shade of red for a creature that is somewhat dead, stays out the light, and looks at blood as a main course. He sits on the foot of my bed. I get out from under the covers and sit beside him. "Tell me some more stories of your adventures. You must be tired of always being on the run," I say.

"I get tired a lot. Alestair doesn't understand. He's too young. No, today, I want to hear about you. I have rattled on so much about my friend and myself, it is your turn. Tell me about yourself. Show me the things that you like."

I smile at him. "I am rather boring. What can I say."

His eyes are brightly looking at me with expectation. He is so insistent, and his plea with those eyes gets to me. I sigh and tell him about my daily routine. He seems very pleased at my words. I think he wouldn't care what I tell him. Do I like this much attention over stupid stuff? Probably not. He laughs a lot at my words. Suddenly, I bend over and kiss his cheek. He stutters something in a very heavy accent and turns a deeper shade of red. I wake. It is Sunday afternoon. I'm certainly becoming a night person.


	21. Chapter 21: Alestair's Conflict

A/N: This is one of the longer chapters in this story. There is one longer. I am also quite fond of this one. There is a lot that goes on here, and I hope it comes over well. And this should push this story over "The MIsshappen Tale of Two Inept Pirates" for word count

My thanks goes out to Bill, who is doing editting on this story, and who wrote some naughty bits for Chapter 18. I was amused.

Thanks to Katie Marsh, who has survived 8 Chapters do far. That is farther than anyone else has made it so far!

Chapter 21: Alestair's Conflict

Alestair

England 1870 Day 3

I wake from a troubled sleep. A cold mustiness fills my aching still limbs. Although dreaming is no good and I am not particularly comfortable, I still don't want to move or get up. My heavy eyelids flutter with the reluctant waking. A blurred pale, clawed hand moves before my face. I pull away from that horror out of my haunted fever dreams. The horrible familiar face of that villain comes into clearer focus. I want to scream and cringe back further. My back hits the earthen wall of the cave where I am. I am not in my own bed! My fingers dig into the ground, and I can tell that my hands are clawed, but I fear to take my eyes from my adversary. My strange long sharp teeth brush my lower lip. Is this another one of my nightmares? This cannot be reality! I squeeze my eyes shut and wish myself to wake up. This nightmare does not go away. It has really happened! I will not wake from this horror. I collapse my face into my hands.

I feel his hands on my shoulders. I pull away from him and kick at him. Is there no way to destroy this invincible monster? He comes at me again, but he stops at my wide eyes and steady retreat. He cocks his head to one side and blinks his eyes. He shakes his head and finally speaks. "Seeing how it troubles you, my friend, I would tell you to forget last night, but I cannot. I do admit that I do not understand your feelings in this matter, and I will not pretend to do so."

I look at him a moment. At first his words make no sense to me, then I remember last night. My mouth drops open and I mutter unheard words. I didn't! I couldn't have! My hands travel to those strange sharp teeth. They are real! I did commit myself last night. This is no horror dream or stupid illusion. How can this be? Vampires are some kind of horror tale that my brother delighted in telling. They are not real! How can I be like this? I have hurt another human being! I have drunk of his life to keep my unholy life force to this corrupted body! I have admitted to the lie. I can feel the hideous teeth and I can see the cruel claws on my hands. I have become part of the terrible myth! I still can taste the boy's blood on my tongue. I am revolted by the fact that the salty flavor is not sickening to me. The memory of stealing his warmth does not seem repulsive to me. How can I be this way!

I clench my hand to myself and close my eyes. I am a vampire. I must destroy all life around me to survive. I am not supposed to care about what I destroy, and I am supposed to revel in the ruin. I don't want to live at this price. I must learn to adjust to this way of living, if that is what you can call it. I must learn the ways to create devastation. I must learn not to care. I have to save Lucy. And how am I to save Lucy like this? Why has this been chosen for me?

I open my eyes and look up at the hideous teacher who put me in this situation in the first place. He watches me silently and curiously. If only I could destroy him, maybe things would return to normal. Maybe I could go back home and Lucy would be there with her bloody kittens. All I would have to be concerned with would be learning to get over that quelling in my gut at the sight of the furry atrocities. I cannot go back. I know it. Still, I do not understand why I am here like this, and even less why that damn monster is back here with me! I bet when I drained the boy of his blood, he swelled with pride at what he has caused me to do. He has won this time.

Clasping my shirt and looking to the ground, I say more to myself than present company, "I must give up my morals."

He looms over me like a mist of darkness. I want to pull away and hide. Still I hold my ground and my fear in check. He kneels beside me and placed his left hand under my chin and lifts my face to his. He takes my hands in his right. Looking in to my eyes with those bright black eyes, he smiles softly. I wonder if it is possible for one vampire to kill another. I wonder if I am capable of such an act now that I am one of the damned. "You need not give up all of your morals, my friend. I am certain some of your beliefs of good and evil are alright. You will just have to get it out of your head that the taking of blood is evil. I find some of your morals quite fascinating."

It is my turn to blink at him. That was definitely a different statement than what I had expected him to say. "I'll be destroying many lives for my one. If I have to survive, I must be immoral," I reply at what I would expect his approval. I will go into his realm. I will be the monster that he has created me to be.

He stands up and throws out his hands. "You have not done that much harm to that boy. He will get over it soon enough. You have only bitten him once, and I let him go instead of killing him," he replies offhandedly. My eyes widen at his cold words. He shrugs. "Just don't go after him for another seven years, my friend. There are enough vampires as it is, I will thank you to know."

"How could I do this? Why couldn't I just stay dead and endure the flames of Hell? Now I must be an emotionless murderer!" I complain. The thought of killing that boy last night burns me. I should have been able to control myself. I will never attack another person again! How can I?

"Alestair, you are a wimp!" he cried out unexpectedly, "You were a wimp when I first met you, and you still are! Vampirism has not changed you from being weak and spineless!"

I glare at him. I feel the blood in my body rise to the occasion. I pull away from him violently. I let all my distraught anger pour into my body. If I was such a wimp when he met me, why did he chose me as his underling? There were plenty of others on the Demeter or in Florence or anywhere else we were! I didn't choose him! My claws enclose around his scrawny neck. I tighten my grip on his throat as a shocked expression appears across his face, I wonder if a vampire can survive and repair a broken severed neck. I bet my claws are sharp enough for the job. I feel his cold blood roll down my hands. I can do this! I know I can. He deserves it!

I do not notice his resistance until his hand touches my exposed neck. His hands do not embrace my neck like mine do his. They move about in search of a place, and then he applies the slightest of pressures on the place where he took my blood from me. Suddenly I cannot take in breath to myself. I must release him as my strength wanes from the lack of air that I cannot take in. Why is it if I am dead that I must breathe?

The vile creature moves away from me. He rubs his throat where my claws have cut him. With a few more gasps for air, the contortions to my windpipe cease. Tears fill my eyes and roll down my cheeks from the effort. I wonder if my brother was right and vampire tears are blood. I don't want to know. I glare at the wretch in front of me and the knowledge that I am the same as him eats at me. "I'll destroy you one of these days, you evil monster," I growl.

A sharp glare enters his eyes that I have not yet seen before. Good! Maybe he will end this farce and show his true colors. I give him an equally angry look, but he backs down. His shoulders droop and he turns his face down. He absently rubs his throat where I tried unsuccessfully to throttle him. Pulling his hand away, he clenches his fists and looks up at me. "Now, Alestair, my friend, look here. You and I are to work together. I will teach you the ways of vampirism. You are to listen to me, and I am to learn something from you in return as well," he says in a rather hoarse voice. My attack did do something to him.

"I am not a . . . I'm to learn from you as to how to be a vampire, but I have no knowledge to give you," I answer.

"Ah, that is because you do not realize it yet. You will teach me, my friend. You do not know me well enough to know what I need to know. You are a fine young man with a fine soul. You will know your answer soon enough."

I narrow my eyes at him, but he seems unaffected by my anger. "Stop talking in riddles!" I command, "I can't teach you anything about evil. You have many centuries on me and you know all of the ancient evils. I must learn those for myself so that I may survive. I must learn to perform those evils on men and feel nothing as a result. I must learn to be the most evil monster to walk this world."

"Alestair, quit it!" he says as he stands up to his full unimpressive height and crosses his arms. "Do you feel evil?" he demands, "Is your desire for destruction that strong? Is that the way of the young German man I met back in 1825?"

"No," I answer quietly, "I am different. You have made me different. I don't want to follow your trail of blood, but I must. I am like you now."

"Alestair, my dear friend," he announces as he unsuccessfully tries to throw his arm around me. He stands a moment empty handed with a mild expression of confusion on his face, then he shrugs. "Vampirism is like a disease," he reasons, "Your soul is the same. Your values are the same. Your physical need is different. Thus, there is a change in your nature. You are a tad bit more violent." He rubs his throat thoughtfully for a moment and shrugs. "You are going to be a hunter. It is going to make your life a lot more interesting. It will build your character. It will beat all the paper work stuff," he adds a bit too happily for my liking.

"I was happy with my life," I point out.

"I know, my friend," he answers cheerfully, "but you will be happy with this life once you get used to it. The first thing you must realize is that no matter what I have done to you, you will always be Jonathan Harker, and you should act accordingly. So do not try to be like me. That is not the reason that I made you a vampire. You cried when you took your victim last night. That was the good 'ole Jonathan crying. When I took my first victim back in 1349, or was it still 1348, oh well, whenever, I shed no tears. I would not otherwise as a mortal. Misko was not a very nice fellow. I think he was a bit nastier than Orlock. Of course, Orlock got a bit screwed up along the way and lost track of his goals. It is rather hard to spread death and destruction and general havoc about when your mind is otherwise occupied. Do not look at me that way, my friend. I had these hobbies when I was mortal. I had a thing for blood a few years before I became a vampire. Anyway, my point is that you are not made to feel any different because your teeth are a bit long and sharp and you have a thing for blood. You are still the same Jonathan Harker at heart. You have a choice of being good or evil . . . being as you were as mortal except a bit stronger physically and capable of doing more, or you can decay into the hideous thing that I am. You are not forced to do either except by your own conscience, which is ever present whether you admit it or not. You have proof that it is still there. We would not be arguing otherwise, my friend."

"If I have such freedom, why must I take the blood? Why, when I need blood, I will bite the victim whether I want to or not?" I demand.

"Nature, my dear friend. When you were human, you ate to survive. Now your diet has changed a bit with that physical need I just told you about. When you become a more experienced vampire, you will have better control over your need. It is possible to starve yourself. I have never seen it done, but I know that the power exists. Of course, there are a lot easier ways to die. Come, my friend, do you want to kill more than necessary?" he asks in an offhand way like asking about the weather.

No," I answer quietly. With some of the energy of my fury left, I add, "I only wish to kill you."

"Do you wish to bring the Black Death to each place you visit? It is in your power," he asks flatly.

"No!" I return forcefully.

"Then what is your problem?" He asks as he throws up his hands as if this is the end of the argument.

"I force vampirism to survive," I reply, as I glare at him again. How can he be so dense!

He stomps his foot. "I will smack you silly if you make a vampire out of any of your victims except one! There is a limit on the number of vampires, and one bite will not make that boy a vampire!" He flaunts in my face. What do I really know about vampirism?

His words bother me, but I choose to ignore the implications of his first statement. I have more pressing concerns at the moment. I will worry about the future after I have the bit settled about what I did last night. "And after the boy dies? Will he become a vampire then?" I ask nervously afraid of what his answer might be.

"No," he answers as if I am some idiot, "Think, my boy! If this was true, then we would have a food shortage!"

"And what have I done to his soul?" I inquire, remembering that my miserable soul is now damned.

He gives a half smile and shrugs. "If he is deserving, he will go to Heaven. God would not allow us to exist if it were that easy to damn a soul."

"But I am damned!" I complain.

"It is difficult to make a vampire," he tries to explain to me. I listen. "In your case, my friend, I was determined to make you a vampire. I have always wanted an underling, and I liked you."

I remember the reason we are supposedly back and the condition that Lucy is in. I swallow hard at the memory of what he told me two nights ago. I draw in a heavy breath and swallow down my own self loathing for causing all of this. "Then the boy is insane from my bite."

"You are not thinking, my friend," he reprimands. His bright black eyes watch me as if disappointed in me. "You were not insane after my first bite to you. You were despairing but not crazy. After all, I had you tied and gagged, and you knew what was coming."

"But I didn't want vampirism! The only way to be a vampire is to force an unwilling victim into vampirism."

He crosses his arms again and stomps his foot. "And how would Lucy feel if she heard you speak so?"

"She wouldn't care," I mumble. I don't remember all that happened that night, but I rather got the idea that my adversary was invited to her room. Even if she did prefer him over me, I would never harm her. I would have killed him, even if I died in the process. She did not deserve this life I gave her. My bitterness pour into my words as if it was all his fault. It might as well be. "She was attracted to you, remember? And there aren't any more evil than you!"

He holds up one clawed finger and smiles at me. "She also killed me, my friend. She tricked me into the dawn," he answers as if it makes it all alright. I narrow my eyes at him as he continues with that goofy smile. "I think she was a bit peeved that you had acquired fangs."

Deep in my feeling of self pity and loathing I blurt back at him, "Funny way of showing it she did have."

He scratches the back of his neck and his cheeks flush. "Well, you were rather growling and spitting at her at the time. I mean quite literally. I sometimes wonder what she would have done if she were not bitten again. I mean, she was really quite fond of you, my friend."

Remembering some of the things that she liked about me, I come to the realization of existing this way, I have lost what she loved the most about me. She chose me over some of the rich and well known men who pursued her hand, because she liked the quiet me, and she liked that I was so shy. I knew her station in life was well above mine. How could I keep her affection for me like this? I have to be an aggressor, a hunter, a murderer. "She could never love me after I have destroyed that poor boy's life," I utter. I drop my face to my hands and cry out, "Oh God! How could I have done this horrible deed?"

I feel the other's arms thrown around me. I glare up at him. Can't he just leave me in my self misery! He smiles at me, and I shove him off of me. I don't want his evil near me! I push him back. "Get away from me!"

"Alestair, listen. The boy is fine. Come. Take my hands. I will take you to him."

I look at those pale clawed hands that he offers me. I back away a moment. On a second thought, I realize I have nothing left to lose. I don't want to join the dark forces of the universe, but I have to go where my nature leads me. My curiosity at his words intrigue me. How can he take me to my previous victim? I take those demonic hands into my own. They were so ice cold before tonight, but now they feel warm and leathery. He bows his head and closes his eyes as if in concentration. His claws clasp about my wrists, and I can feel his spirit close to my own like when he has taken over this body, but I know he does not read my thoughts nor does he invade my soul. It is more informal than that. His claws move and cut into my wrists. It is a pin prick, nothing more. Drops of my blood trickle out onto his claws. The clasp tightens as does his concentration. Although my thoughts are on him at the moment, I do notice that the scenery around us changes.

I stagger and feel light headed. I let go of his hands and stumble to a crouching position. My opposite has fallen to his hands and knees. His small body trembles and shimmers. I blink my eyes. This has taken some strength from him. I can sense it. A wicked smile crosses my lips. I must remember this weakness. I can use it against him when the time comes. What difference does it make if I waddle in deception? Is not deception the key to vampirism?

Gaining my senses much sooner than my mentor, I look around at my new surroundings. We are near a small house off from a bigger house. I look across the vast fields spread out before the structure. Some distance ahead I notice the place where I took my victim the night before. A shiver travels my spine. I turn around to the house. We are at the servants' quarters. I can tell by the size and the make. A cold wind ruffles my clothes and I swallow hard. How did he know where the victim sleeps?

"I am getting too old for this," the vampire says with a thin smile. What is he talking about? Vampires grow stronger with age. He slowly pulls himself up.

"What happened?" I ask as I look at the house before us.

"I have teleported us to the boy's home," he announces proudly. He will gain no applause from me. "It is kind of hard to teleport with another person, but you will learn the technique soon enough, my friend. Come, look," he adds as he motions me to the window at the back of the house. I still don't understand how he knows where we are going.

I stand a moment determined that I will not go ahead with this, but I must know. I look through the glass window. I feel like a peeping Tom. Inside a modest room, I see a bed with the boy I attacked last night. He is covered in heavy covers and seems to be sleeping peacefully. I grasp my coat tightly. At least, he will have one good night's sleep after what I did to him. His face his pale and his eyelids are dark as if he has suffered some draining illness. I recognize the bottle of elixir on the night stand. I can sympathize. Many a time I was forced to down the horrid stuff. I guess I won't have to deal with such horrors again since I am now one of the undead.

Frank touches my shoulder. "See. He is well. Let us leave," he urges.

I stand my ground with my arms crossed. "No. He may seem normal for me to look at him, but how do I know that he has not been damned to this existence?"

He sighs and shakes his head. He mutters several unheard words, then he looks up at me. "Distrustful, are we not?"

"Especially of you and your words," I return.

"What do you want?" he demands. "If you fool around with previous victims, you will get vampire hunting back in fashion!" He pulls at my arm. "Come, let us leave . . . NOW!"

I pull away from him. "Prove to me that he is not damned!"

"How?" he insists as he throws up his hands. The question of if he is so nervous about this, why he does not yank me into teleportation away from this place comes briefly to my mind.

"I don't know. Show me that he can do something that we can't," I reply.

"And how are we going to do that without waking him or hurting ourselves in the process?" he retorts.

"You are the one with all of the answers!" I point out.

He looks skyward. "Thanks a lot, Minos!" he grumbles. He turns his eyes to me, "but I did have to choose him, didn't I?" A smile crosses his lips and he shakes his head. "Pay no heed to my complaints. You know how full of it I am. I would never wish you away."

Since I do not truly understand his comment, I ignore it for the time being. I have other pressing concerns on my mind. "Oh shut up, and answer my question!"

He draws in a deep breath and squares his shoulders. He silently mutters something again. He suddenly moves towards the brick wall and motions for me to follow. My brow furrows. "Come, my friend. Follow me," he gently orders, as he blends through the solid wall.

I stand back and stutter. I can't do that! I am solid, am I not? He return back through the solid wall and grabs my wrist and tugs at me. I follow him, but I have to close my eyes. The expectation of slamming into the stone wall never is fulfilled. I can pass through the seemingly solid structure with ease.

"We are spectres. We do not really exist on this plane, my friend," he says to answer my confusion. Needless to say, my confusion does not subside. "It is a vampiric thing," he adds as if that solves anything, "Does that help?"

"I kind of figured that out myself," I retort.

"Then why ask the question if you already know the answer," he counters.

"That doesn't answer my question," I point out.

"I already answered your question. You are a vampire, and vampires can walk through walls at will. It has to do with the fact that we are partially of the spirit world, and we don't really belong to this world. Of course, I had to add a bit of my strength to you, because you don't believe you can do such things, my friend," he explains.

It is still a bit baffling to me, but I will have to accept his words. I was never much for the study of the immaterial world and such. "Alright!" I yield.

"What do you want me to say?" he complains as he spreads his hands.

"I don't know," I relent, "I just wish you would explain these things before you go yanking me through a solid wall. Remember, I am not really used to being a vampire like you are."

He lowers his head and smiles ever so slightly. "Alright," he answers.

He goes to a mirror in the room and motions for me to follow. He stands before the reflective surface and pretends he has a reflection. It does not acknowledge either one of us. Well, at least, Elias was right about something. All the horror stories that he delighted in telling a terrified five year old have become somewhat useful. I guess this again has to do with what Frank has said about us being part of the spirit world.

"What are you doing?" I ask as he brushes down his clothes and smooths down his eyebrows in front of the mirror as if he is really a human. "You have no reflection," I complain, unless he can see something that I cannot.

"There is no accounting for taste! The mirror does not know what it is missing!" he pouts.

"And it would be glad of it," I respond. He is not easy on the eyes. I don't see what use any of this has to do with the mission we are on, and for someone so apprehensive about entering here, why does he play around?

He stands back and holds out his hand to the mirror as an invitation. "All the same, what the mirror denies, it also confirms. Look, my friend. Although you cannot see me or yourself in its reflection, you can see your young victim asleep in his bed.

I look into the mirror's frame. He is right, the youth continues to sleep in his bed. "Yes," I answer as I look to the place where my reflection should be.

He takes my hand and pulls me away from my thoughts. He leads me to the sleeping youth. He swallows hard and mumbles some more incoherent words. He looks up at me, and although his smile is meant to bright and cheerful, I can see worry in his black eyes. "Touch him," he blurts out. "Do it quickly and gently."

"Why?"

"You will wake him, and we do not want that, my friend," he answers.

That was not the question I was asking. I wanted to know why I was supposed to touch my victim yet again, especially since we do not want to wake him. I guess there will be an answer to my question soon enough. I move to the young man in the bed. His right hand hangs off the side of the bed out from under the blankets. I look to Frank again and build my courage. I kneel beside the bed and touch that hand. The boy recoils from me and moans quietly, but he does not wake.

Frank had jumped back from the movement, but he approaches again. He takes me by the shoulders and asks, "Is his hand warm?"

"Yes," I reply.

"And he fears your deathlike cold hand. So, my friend, he is not dead or undead, right?" he inquires brightly.

I sigh in resignation. "I will give you that one," I yield.

He nods to the youth. "He wears the cross about his neck again, my friend," he points out.

I look at my previous victim. Frank is right. The boy does wear the pendant again. My fingers reach out to the symbol of salvation that lays quietly on his rising and falling breast. I don't notice Frank again until he forcefully grabs my wrist. He is too late and too weak to defeat my determination. I squeal loudly as the cross burns into my flesh of my fingers. Then the scene changes quickly. I fall in the tall grass of the place where we caught my victim last night. I feel the squirming body of my companion underneath me and I roll off of him. I pull myself up. This method of travel is just too strange for me. My head feels light again, and I feel nauseated.

"You need to lose weight, my friend," he grumbles. That is a first for me. I have always been scrawny at best. Everyone I knew wanted to fatten me up including my brother. I glare at him. He only smiles in a laughing sort of way. "You are going to get me killed one of these days!" he complains.

"Good!" I retort, "I would prefer it that way."

He sticks his tongue out at me in a cockeyed sort of way. I raise my eyebrows at his immature reaction. This is the monster that brought the plague to my hometown and made me a vampire! He holds up his arms for me to help him up. I turn my back on him. I fell for that trick once. I will not do it again. "And after I have just saved your neck! Hmpf! That's gratitude for you!"

"I wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for you! Come on," I say as I turn back to him. He sits up in the grass with his legs spread out and looking up at me like a lost puppy. I shake my head. "Let's get on with it before I have to take another victim."

"Quit worrying about it, my friend. You now know that you do not really hurt your victims in a permanent way," he reasons.

"That's not the point!" I object.

"Then what is the point?"

"It is not right."

"And why not?"

Could he not see the wrongness of this way of life? I blink at him and try to find a reason for him. "I feel like a thief! I am taking something that I have no right to. I should be dead by all rights."

He looks at me and smiles. Something sharp is on the edge of his tongue to say, but he doesn't utter it. He lowers his head and his eyes move in thought for a few moments, then he looks back up at me. "It is something that they quickly replace and no one is the wiser of our deed. After a couple of weeks the loss of blood is totally forgotten."

"I wish you would quit rationalizing this existence," I grumble.

"What do you want me to say? I like being a vampire. I will admit there are certain things I do not like about being a creature of the night, but I have managed quite well around that. Now that you are my traveling companion, things are a lot better. It does get better with time, my friend, but first things first. We need to find you a tailor shop. You have a definite musty smell about you, and your clothes look older than you are."

I grimace. "Thank you ever so much!" I sneer.

I look down at my ragged clothes to see that the years of my death have shown in them. My own odor reaches my nostrils. He is right. I do smell strongly of the grave, but I have yet to find any vermin in my clothes. My unpleasant odor is not the only one that I smell. His silken ragged black clothes also show the passage of time, although I don't think that they continued to exist while we were dead. I thought all things concerning him had turned to dust. I shake my head to quit trying to figure out the paradox. It just is. If clothing styles change as often as they did in my time, then I know that my clothes are outdated, and his clothes are far outdated. They weren't quite in date during my time. I do hope that he will pick something a bit more pleasing to the eyes this time.

With all these thoughts in my head, I run my hand through my hair to discover it is greasy and stiff from the lack of care. I now truly feel like the walking dead. I wonder if soap and water is deadly to our state of being.

We walk through fields of newly tilled grounds. It must be early spring. The air is tinged with the hints of snow in the cold damp air. Then we move into the weeds that were not cut nor did they completely die through the harshness of winter. There is green peeking through the brown under foot. The lights of a nearby town reflect in the heavy clouds above us. We are near a town and we soon will enter it. I don't know what Frank really hopes to accomplish in a town. Yes, we need new clothes, but I am certain that the humans there are not going to be very receptive to the likes of us. Yet, I must remember with whom I am traveling. He seems well gifted in convincing someone white is black and black is white.

We find the town completely deserted. It is not much of a town, and even the local tavern seems to be closed up for the evening. The night is not all that old, although I have spent most of the time arguing with the other. All places seem to be dark and empty, yet there are street lights are shining brighter than my eyes are comfortable with. We seek a tailor shop, and as luck would have it, this seems to be the only place with a dim light burning within. Frank elbows me with that smug smile on his lips as if he has done something really special. He cracks his fingers. He tugs at the hemming of his shabby coat and smooths down his eyebrows. He looks up at me for approval, but I make no response. He, being the subtle sort that he is, bangs on the door.

The sound of shuffling and some cursing floats out from the interior. I was correct that this is England by the language used. The tailor cracks the door open. He is a small lanky man of his middle years. He nervously holds a pistol up at the crack in what he hopes is a threatening poise. He fails completely, because I am not in the least bit impressed, and somehow I think the master vampire has had worse threats. "Be gone from here! I will not do business after sundown and especially to strangers!" he informs us with a shaky Northern British accent.

"My friend and I are in a bad way," Frank explains in that strange heavy accent that he used when he meant me in Florence. What is he up to? And can the man understand what he says? "We have lost all our clothes and our possessions in our travels except a certain amount of money. All we have left are these shabby clothes and the money in our pockets. We are not vagabonds as you might think. We have had to walk many miles through the country to get here."

His trembling hand lifts the pistol up to aim it at Frank's head. "I will do no business after dark!" he repeats, "There are many a queer thing afoot." He lowers the hand weapon and looks at Frank in the eye, then he nervously pulls his gaze away. He looks side to side. "They say that there are vampires out prowling the night. I am inclined to laugh at such words since this is the Nineteenth Century and not the Sixteenth, but I have seen many strange things over the last couple of weeks. I have seen the marks on men. They say that she has cat teeth, and I've seen her scarred in battle with blessed water and the crucifix. Her vampire companion is not right in the head., but she is capable of denying all the talismans that the foreigner wields. If I did not believe the rumors I hear, I would be happy to help you."

Frank clasps his hands together. "Please, allow us entrance. Come, do we look like vampires, my friend?" He asks with a wide toothy grin. Oh good God! How could he say that ! How can he grin like that? I elbow him in the back.

The man looks at us with a scrutinizing eye. That must be one great illusion he is pulling. I can see the wheels turning in the tailor's mind. He is trying to figure out whether we are just oddities or foreigners. Frank's accent should hint the latter. "Young Peter, they say fell ill from loss of blood last night. We thought we had driven the women from town a week ago. He says a man attacked him, but he's not really sure of the details. All he remembers is a tall person with dark hair and the pain of the attack. I guess it could have been the vampiress. She is quiet and has dark hair," he explains. He looks us over again. I self consciously try to do something with my clothes, but there is no hope for them. He sighs deeply and gives in. "I guess you are too obvious to be vampires. Our vampiress and her companion were quite young and attractive. We did not know them until too late." He puts the pistol away and shuts the door to unlatch it. He allows us entrance. I glare at Frank. He told me that the boy would not remember me. Yet, the boy showed no sign of contamination. I will have to believe that he will be alright. After all, he can still bear the cross, and I cannot.

I look around the store. There are many types of materials and costumes. I guess there has been a traveling theatrical group come through here recently, and this tailor has repaired some of the fancy disguises and made some to new designs. On the far wall in the dim candlelight is a calendar turned to the month of March with all of the dates crossed out except the 21st and after. The year is 1870! Frank was not lying about how many years have passed while we were in Limbo. I'm 82 now! Oh well, what is age to a vampire, but I have lost all my friends and family to death now. It makes me wonder what exactly is wrong with Lucy that she cannot die and is still considered a young woman, but she is able to not be harmed by those things that are holy. I lean against the door of the inner store and watch Frank put on his act.

He slings his arm around the tailor's shoulders. "Now, my dear fellow," he continues in his heavy accent, "My partner and I really need a change of clothing." He looks back at me and whispers to the man loud enough for me to hear, "Alestair, over there, he smells a bit, you would have to agree." The man does not respond to this statement, and I only roll my eyes skywards and shake my head.

"How may I help you?" the tailor asks at last.

"Well, Alestair needs a remake of his clothes . . . well, maybe something a little bit up to date. And as for me, well, I think I need a complete make over. Do you not agree?"

The tailor looks at his assailant and pulls away. Frank goes through the already made clothes. Holding the clothes up to his body, he looks to me and then the tailor for approval at each style. All the time he does this, he chats amiability about different sewing techniques with the tailor. I don't pay much attention, because I really have no idea of what he is talking about. Frank goes on to admiring the tailor's handiwork on different pieces, and our hosts seems to relax his tension about our oddness. Frank continues on his acts as though under different circumstances they could become good friends. I soon lose all interest in the whole goings on and drift off to my own gloomy thoughts.

Suddenly, Frank's eye is caught by something that he finds of great interest. He gives a yelp of triumph, and with an agility that defies his age, he jumps over a table. Grabbing the object, which is a black cavalier hat with a fluffy white plume, he flops it on his head and displays himself with that self satisfied grin on his face.

"Oh good God, Frank, you are not serious about wearing that thing in public! You look like the Pied Piper!" I complain.

The vampire holds up his finger. He selves into his clothes and comes up with his silver flute. "I do get around, my friend," he replies.

"What!" I cry out.

"I told you that I have been around in one form or another under many different titles since 1288," he replies happily.

"The story of the Pied Piper of Hameln took place in 1248, and he had a pipe not a flute," I point out flatly.

He crosses his arms and stomps his foot. He throws back his head and announces defiantly, "I was the Pied Piper with a flute in 1469! Legends has a way of mucking things up between 1469 and 1825. Besides," he adds with a wink, "why do you think the Pied Piper wanted the children?"

My jaw drops. "You are truly a monster!" I cry out in my shame. How could I have enjoyed the sound of his playing? How could I for a moment accept being his companion? I know what he is and what he is like.

He drops his shoulder and looks down. All the joy of a moment ago has fled his body. "I had never thought of that as wrong before now. I guess the children had no right to be destroyed like that. I should not have done that, especially with the flute. I am sorry, Alestair," he seats himself upon a stool. Looking across the room to the full length mirror that also denies our existence, he stares at it without caring for the sign of what we are. What difference does it make anyway. Although we do not argue in English, I am certain that our tailor has figured out something is not right. "I guess I am given this last chance to grey out my soul. At least, they are not making me do it alone this time." He turns his dark eyes to mine and smiles crookedly. "I will not allow you to learn about the loneliness that drives me to do such horrible things. You do not like me, but I am here."

Although I feel it is another one of his excuses, his words chill more than my existence. It does not excuse his cruelty or his evil, but what am I to do? I am stuck with him. I don't understand him and how he could be so proud of such a senseless murder as that and laugh about it? I look back to the mirror. I can see the terrified tailor edge his way to the doorway. Frank immediately knows and jumps from the stool to stop him. This startles both the poor man and myself. How can he mope like that one moment then corner his prey the next? The vampire charismatically slings his arm around the trembling terrified tailor and leads him back into his shop.

"Look, my dear fellow," he says in a reasonable and amicable voice, "We can talk a nice price for your services, and I swear upon all that I care about that no harm will befall you. We plan to leave as soon as possible and follow up the trail of the two women you spoke of. We only need appropriate clothing to get about a bit easier," he explains. I worry about what his idea of appropriate clothing might turn out to be. He doesn't seem to have much in the ways of fashion sense.

"I will not help the demons of Hell!" he exclaims as he crosses himself.

Frank is unaffected by this action. "Now, it is hard to believe, but we are on a mission of mercy. One of the women that we seek is his rightful wife, and she is not quite a vampire as of yet. All the same, she cannot die either. Well, it gets rather difficult to explain from there, my dear fellow. Just think of it this way- Alestair here finishes out the job that I left unfinished, and he is promising to kill himself afterwards. That means I will die also. Alestair is a peculiar fellow and acts a bit stand offish, but he is only a victim of the fang. He will be glad to tell you exactly how thrilled he is to be a vampire. I have heard nothing but that for the last three days. He does not handle the sight of blood at all well. Actually, I thought he would puke all over me last night, but the blood becomes part of our body too quickly for that."

"And I plan to keep it that way," I remark in English, although it is mostly aimed at Frank.

"Anyway, we are trying to keep from going to Hell in the end. I need to redeem myself in the worst possible way. I have not been a very nice person, and by helping Alestair and Lucy, I may find redemption. If nothing else, I will enjoy his company along the way."

"Go away, evil ones!" he cries out as he finds his dropped pistol and aims it at Frank.

The master vampire holds up his hands in more of an effort to calm the man than being on the defensive. I would not think that a pistol shot would kill him, but I do think it would not sit well with his physical being. Sweat beads off the terrified man's brow and the weapon trembles in his hand. "All we want is some of your clothes, my dear fellow."

The man continues to aim the firearm at him, but Frank raises his hand and the weapon falls from nerveless fingers. The man swallows hard and steps away backwards. "I will not abide in your destructive force. Go away! Please, go away!"

Frank throws down his arms. A darkness fills those bright eyes, and I see that monster that has so often haunted my nightmares. This is the monster that destroyed me and my home! "If you resist our simple requests, my friend and I will have to destroy not only you but your whole town. The Black Death is no fun! I know from first hand experience! I am well capable of bringing the Black Death here. So, do not provoke me."

My eyes open wide. For all the time that I have been back with him, he has done all in his power to convince me that he plans to do right. "Frank!" I exclaim. He waves his hand at me to be quiet.

"It is no longer only your life we are talking about sparing," continues that villain, "We care nothing for your petty race other than for food. Blood, infested with the Black Death, will not harm us. Will you give us the clothes we need, or will your people suffer as a result?"

"Orlock!" I cry out.

Frank grabs the trembling man's wrist to halt his flight. "We have little desire to hurt you. In fact, I rather like you. All we want to do is find Lucy. Our justice to her will be kinder than your justice. Come, my friend, we do not ask for that much. Let us only buy some of your already made clothes. I can alter them myself. We will leave with no more trouble."

"Now I do pity those women. You are the root of their plight and their curse! I will not aid in their damnation!" he returns bravely.

"Hmpf!" remarks the elder. He drops his shoulders and looks to me. "Oh well, I will leave it to you, Alestair. You think you can do something to convince him otherwise?" he asks in German.

"Even if I understood how to summon the rats, I WOULD NOT!" I exclaim back in the same language.

"Alestair, brilliance is not one of your strong points!" he complains loudly.

I glare at him. He has really caused enough chaos, and I will not help him do so! He knows that! "What!" I scream, "I am a new vampire! And even if I am damned and my whole sense of morals is now in ruins by my very existence, I will not aid you in the destruction of this town!"

That horrible thing shakes its head. He turns from me to the struggling captive human. Although its grip is tight on the man, there has been no blood shed nor bones broke. I know that monstrous vampire has enough strength to do some terrible harm to this poor man. To my surprise and the tailor's, a rat appears on the vampire's shoulder. The rodent runs down the length of his arm and pauses briefly at the master's wrist, then he continues forward to the human's shoulder. The tailor's eyes open wide with the prospect of what might be coming. I swallow hard. I remember the cries of the dying. It eats at me that it will start again!

The vile damnation smiles at his victim. "Now this rat may or may not carry the Black Death. If he does, I am capable of saving you and your town. I can be very selective of the blood I take. I can get to the illness before it takes hold of you. Of course, it is quite possible that my friend here does not carry the fleas that carry the Black Death."

The monster continues his speech, but my inaction is at an end. I have let this happen once before without doing anything, and I cannot let it happen again. If I kill him, then the plague will go away. Is that not what happened when my darling Lucy killed him? Why does God allow this thing to continue coming back to this world? He does this over and over again. I can't let it happen. I grab that hideous horror from behind. I have never been a strong man, but my unnatural state and my anger has given me a strength that I did not know existed. If I try hard enough, maybe I can break his neck. I have never killed a man, but I keep trying to tell myself this is no man that I fight. The vampire chokes, and I see that he is grasping the man's wrist tighter. I know of the shedding of blood even without seeing it. The man redoubles his struggle to release himself. I am sure that the fangs of that monster must be exposed for his sight. I wish that I did not have to put him through so much of a nightmare, but I must.

Finally, the thing releases his victim and claws at my grasping hands. It cries out, "Alestair, stop it. The rat is not infected! It is a bluff!"

THE RAT! I cease in my aggression to that demonic creature. I go to the petrified man. The rat and the man try to cringe away from my approach. There are no words that I can say to soothe the fear. I mean him no harm. I know I look too much like his attacker to regain his calm. The rat is aware of my intentions, but it does not have time to flee.

"No, Alestair, do no do this!" my horrible inflictor cries out, as he tries to fight me off. I am the stronger for a change. I win. I knock the rat with all my strength away from the victim. The rodent slams into the wall with a crushing bloody bang. I know it is dead without looking. I have no need to look nor do I want to see its remains. I feel my opponent slump into my shoulder. I can feel moisture through my coat. The tailor has lost consciousness. When he awakes, the horrors will be gone from his shop, and I hope we will never return again.

"It was only a threat, not an action," Frank sobs into my shoulder, "I am here to try and redeem myself. I have no intentions of bringing the Black Death here. The rat was clean of the fleas."

I turn around and he slumps to the floor. I don't now what to believe. He is such a liar. Why is he so upset? Is he innocent of wanting to bring harm this time? I run my fingers through my matted hair. Why me? Why can't I understand him? Still, there is nothing left to do. We might as well get what we can here for. I find a suitable change of clothes for myself. I am a bit tall, so it is hard to find pants the right length, but I manage. I change my attire and notice that I have a vast scar on my chest from where the stake was driven through my heart. I touch the place and I can feel a faint heartbeat. Why would a vampire, an undead creature, have a heartbeat? It makes no sense to me. Think, Jonathan! You got top grades in the classes that your father paid for. You should be able to figure this one out on your own. A vampire is a creature that lives on blood, so therefore the major organ of the blood should work. I guess it makes a warped kind of sense. I also notice that I have an accumulation of dirt in places that I didn't even know dirt could get to. It is as if this body dug its way out of a grave. Hmpf. Why would my family bother to bury a filthy vampire? I really need a bath. I find a second set of clothes, and I have assumed that Frank has been doing the same. It was a shock when I found him still sitting on the floor with his head bowed.

"Come on, you fool. We have harassed this man enough for a lifetime. I want us gone from here before he wakes up. You must change your clothes since that is the whole reason for coming here," I coax him.

"I have caused such a senseless death to one that trusts me, and I have caused such senseless fear to a man that, if we both had been alive, I could have called a friend," he mutters quietly.

I kneel before him. "Frank, I need you. I am aware that I have immense power, but I don't understand it. I don't know how to control it. We have to find Lucy. I am not strong like you. I can't make it alone." I try to console him. I am unsure why I should bother, but the things I have done this night and the other two nights I have been back frighten me more than I am really willing to admit. If he does not exist, then who will I turn to tell me what I can and cannot do? I don't want to inadvertently hurt someone with these accursed powers. I do not want to exist this way, but I must. I don't want to be alone.

"Why not?" he argues, "I made it alone. You are stronger than you think."

I remember some of my old self and how I originally felt towards him before he bit me. There is a part of me that smiles at that memory. I take his wrists and gently squeeze them I can't believe I am doing this. There is part of my fury kicking me in the teeth over this. "You are a likeable person, but it is too soon for me to give you my friendship. After all, I still hate you for making me a vampire, killing my people and especially for hurting Lucy. I can't forget the past just like that. How can I forget what happened? Eventually my heart will forgive you, but I just can't yet."

He looks up at me. I can see the tears in his eyes. Elias was wrong there. Vampires do not cry blood. "I want to be worthy of your friendship. I do not always mean to do wrong things. I just end up doing it anyway."

"Come on. Let's get on with our quest," I encourage.

A smile crosses his face and he nods in agreement. He pulls himself to his feet and goes to the clothes. He rummages through them and comes up with a decent couple sets of attire. His size being considerable smaller than mine is easier to find a fit. He displays out his new fashion for my approval, not that I think that makes any difference to him what I think. Still, the outfit is more in date than what he had. Although the only people we have seen since our return is a young farm boy and an over worked tailor, I would say that the clothes would blend us in with the times, because they seem to be a common cut. He now wears a black suit with a black cloak and black knee high boots. He wears a white scarf and now carries a silver headed cane. He gathers another set of a similar style and packs them into his spare cloak with his old clothes. He takes my spare clothes and puts them with his own. Searching through his pockets, he produces a pouch of what I would suspect to be coins and places it on the counter. I am unsure why he has bothered to be so civil to this man. It would be more like him to have killed him in the first place and be done with it all, or even worse, he could have made him a vampire as well.

He kneels down to the unconscious man on the floor and says, "I am sorry we have caused you so much trouble. I honestly did not mean to, and I mean what I said about your skills."

Then he moves to the spot where the bloody remains of the shattered rat lays. He passes a hand of over the body, and although I feel my stomach in my throat at the sight, I notice that the blood of the dead animal absorbs into his palm. Needless to say, I don't feel any better for the knowledge. He looks around the room with a sad smile on his face, then he looks to me.

"I have alliances with the rats. I think you understand that somewhere inside of you, my friend," he tells me.

I feel sicker now.

He outlines my face with one of those clawed fingers on his left hand. I pull away from him. "Come, my friend, we must flee. He will wake soon, and we will be pursued."

'"And whose fault is that?" I point out.

"Specifically yours!" he returns quickly with a crooked smile, "I thought you would take up the fight with me."

"Did it occur to you that I am not happy with the deed that lies ahead of us much less torturing humans?" I remark sardonically. He shrugs as a response. I furrow my brow and a thought came to me that has been bothering me for some while. "And, by the way, what are we going to do when we catch Lucy?"

"You are going to bite her, my friend," he says nonchalantly as he tidies my clothes and grabs that stupid hat from the stool he sat on earlier.

Fortunately for him, I am too preoccupied to argue that. "I am going to do what?" I scream.

"What do you think you were going to do when I explained what was wrong with her and how to solve it?" he asks as he exits out on the deserted streets again.

I rush behind him. "Oh good God!" I exclaim, "How am I going to do this?"

He turns to me with a cheeky sarcastic smile on his lips. "Oh . . . it is quite simple. You were not given fangs for nothing, you know, my friend."

"But . . . but . . . she's my wife," I stammer.

He shrugs and licks a finger to test the direction of the wind. "So, what is your problem? You have shed her blood before," he remarks as he points out a direction.

I glare at him with a hint of a snarl with the vile remark he just made and follow him.

He grins wider, "I am inexperienced in such matters, but I am not stupid," he replies.

"You're a foul minded old lech!" I complain.

"You know," he says trying to sound reasonable like he is trying to sell me something, "It is like the story about the Sleeping Beauty. The prince kisses the sleeping princess to wake her from her dreams," he says pleasantly enough, then he shrugs again and adds brightly, "But in your case it is called the kiss of doom."

"I think I am going to be sick!" I groan.

"Look," he remarks as he turns on me. He takes my arms and looks up at me. "You are the third vampire. She will welcome your bite, my friend. I take it that she loves you. Why else would she have sacrificed herself in this way?"

"She did love me at one time," I answer with those seeds of doubt planting in my mind. How could she continue to love me like this and what I am about to do to her?

"Then she still does. Trust me on this one, my boy. I do know a few things." He lets go of me and continues forward in the direction that he pointed out. "What better than having her love for the last bite?"

I don't understand the logic of that statement. It strikes me as to what exactly he is planning for me to do. "How is making her a vampire going to save her soul?" I ask.

"She has her logic again and she can repent like I did. The powers that be will send you to Purgatory for awhile. The two of you are believable, my friend. They will not have to send you back here to prove that you are true to your word. I, personally, would much rather live again instead of facing final judgement."

"I can't do this," I complain.

"Do not worry about it now, my friend. We will work out the details when we find her. You know, you ought to try and live out the vampirism for awhile. It can be quite fun once you get used to it."

"So that you can grab a victim and you won't have to return with us! No, 'my friend'. The three of us are going to leave this existence as soon as I am done! I will not put her through the Hell I lived through last night!"

He turns to me with a knowing smile that sender shivers down my spine. "Oh, we will see. We will see."


	22. Chapter 22: A Plea for Lucinda

Chapter 22: A Plea for Lucinda

Rafael

November 16, 2000

I feel my date went over well with Miss Dorothea. I still don't see what my attraction is to her. We are not quite on the same level. I have a different kind of crowd that I hang out with. I guess that is kind of like the stupid problem that the lovely Camilla has. There are certain people who attract our kind. I am glad that I didn't fall into the same trap as my catty sister. Of course, I do believe that Dorothea is not exactly the same cut as that little mutt following Camilla around. She does not seem terrified of what we are. It is kind of an indifferent view on us. Yes, it is no longer the Sixteenth Century. Camilla must trust her greatly to confide in her what we are. I think many not very nice things about her, but she is no fool. Our strength is their disbelief, and if she knew how plagued I am by vampire hunters, she would have killed her before letting her know. Of course, I do have the distinct feeling that I will have more than Gregory Harper to deal with before this is all over.

I can sense Orlock's meddling in her as well. This astounds me more that she does not pull away from our kind. His pursuits after a woman is quite unorthodox to say the least. I at least try to convince her that this way of life has its good points, and I find willing victims so much easier to get along with, instead of driving them to the edge of despair. Of course, I do have to admit it is rather fun to see them wither in a trap. I smile brightly. I do have such lovely things planned for dear little Gregory once I catch him. I have not lost my many techniques that I had in my time with the Spanish Inquisition, and I can still make him a useable daykeeper afterwards.

Tonight, I sit back watching the television and wait for Camilla. I had to cancel my appointment at the club, but they will get over it. I am worth it, and they get more than their fair share of the money that I draw. I went in search of my feline younger at the university to make this arrangement. Considering the fact that she has been seeking me all this time, I would have thought she would be pleased to see me instead of throwing a hissy fit. Cats are so easy to aggravate, and I am not impressed. I would have taken care of business right there and then, but my business is not meant for mortal ears. Of course, I can't say that some of the views there are not intriguing, and I got equal approving stares.

I know the cat will bring that misfit with her. After all, this is what she wants to meet with me over. That creature was hiding in her office when I came there for our brief meeting. I prop my feet up on the cushion stool and put my arms behind my head. I will so enjoy popping her bubble in this. The lights are turned down low. This modern age has far too much light for my liking, but that's alright. Most of my guests find such lighting romantic to say the least. I am comfortable with no light at all, but I use this for show. It would not look good for someone like me sitting around in the complete darkness of a room.

The new show starts and the commercials and what not are over and the show has begun, and still no appearance of her royal highness. Hah! She was a basic nobody like myself. I do believe that Orlock was of some high descent, and we all know about him. I was getting interested in the show when the knock comes at the door. Ah, she's fashionably late. I understand. It doesn't mean that I will make this any easier on her.

Dexeter shuffles about and answers the door. He comes to me and bows. Camilla enters the room with her high airs with that long black silken hair hugging her arms. She is dressed in a modest business dress. I guess the university would not appreciate her flaunting her assets. I don't mind, though. I would prefer her to be her sneaky conniving self. Her graceful hands with those long perfect nails are clutched at her side. The straight line of her blood red lips and the fire in her eyes makes my ignoring her in favor of this show all the more satisfying. She was the one, who was late in the first place.

Dexeter points to the cringing creature close behind her. "Leave it behind," he orders. I have trained them so well.

Camilla pulls back her arm and knocks my daykeeper two feet across the room into the wall. His consciousness escapes him as he sides to the floor. The housekeeping in this hotel will not appreciate the bloodstain on the wall. It will probably cost me extra. Oh well, there are other ways of paying other than the monetary way, although I lack none of it. I smile. Her strength has waned none with her self-acclaimed burden. With more coaxing and some softening to her features, she convinces Lucinda to enter the room. Camilla slams the door shut behind her. Knowing well that such a hit as she gave my daykeeper would have easily killed a mortal man, but also knowing that he no longer is a mortal man, she kicks him to get up and out of her way. I do not move or acknowledge any of this. They have received more abuse from me, and they are most likely to get plenty more.

She stands before me and throws back her hair like a raven in flight. "You know why I am here," she says in her usual way with no hint of gratitude for I what I may do nor any hint of humbleness. Cat through and through.

"I know, and the answer is still 'no'," I answer with no hint of emotion. Why should I yield to her. She needs me to remove that shackle and not the other way around.

"Why not?" she asks bluntly.

"Why should I? She is your mistake, not mine, and the history that this girl's blood has doesn't encourage me at all. You drank her blood, and that has messed with your way, and Orlock started this all, and from last I heard of him, he is messed up as well," I answer with a hint of a smile. That was at least one trap that I did not fall into. I do try to stay out of Orlock's territory. He leaves behind some nastily tainted blood.

"I assure you Orlock is no different than what he was before. He pursues us, as you know," she points out.

"And how many accounts of the plague have you heard in recent times?" I inquire cannily.

"You know he covers his tracks when it so suits him, and the grip of the disease is not what it used to be," she returns.

I shrug. I do have to give her both counts on that. The people of this time are far too clean and thorough about cleaning. Even at that, there are many accounts of the plague that Orlock has easily covered up for his own purposes. Out of the three of us, he is the best at the convincing lies. Still, I do not trust this woman's blood. I give my guests a sidelong look. I wonder what kind of monster this woman is. From what I remember of Orlock, his sight is not the best, and besides that, she is no prize. The creature remains cowled, and none of my daykeepers have ever seen her face. I wonder what they are hiding. I only bite pretty women.

"What has she done to you? Nothing. What have I ever done to you? Nothing," she argues.

"You have done nothing for me either," I add.

"Rafael, turn the other cheek. I have always tried to stay out of your territory. I have never led the vampire hunters in your direction, and I have always managed to lose them on my own. Do this one favor for me. I have suffered enough over the last 173 years."

My smile widens. For someone who is here to beg, she does not strike the right pose for my liking. She needs to be on her knees groveling. She snatches the remote control to the television and flips it off. I frown at her. Groveling would not be quite enough, and I do know things that could hurt a vampire. I glare at her.

"Just because you have picked up a moral or two, Carmilla, does not mean that I have to play along with you and your problems," I snarl.

"If Lucy becomes a vampire at your fangs, then she will be a sane vampire. If Orlock catches us, she will be insane, and that could spell real trouble for all of us," she reasons.

She has a point. I don't question her on Orlock's motives in such matters. He has no love for humanity or for vampires. I doubt that he even loves himself. I fold my hands and lean back in my chair. Of course, if she is a vampire, she can be destroyed as a vampire. My four daykeepers and myself would be enough to do this little task. How powerful could a mongrel be? "What is your real reason, Carmilla? You know as well as myself that we can outrun this disaster, and the first daybreak would take care of the problem of one nutty vampire. Then there are vampire hunters out there. Do you want her a vampire because you feel guilty for causing her so much pain and suffering, or is it because of your sexual desires, and a crazy woman is no fun?"

A low growl comes from her throat. She will not attack me, because she knows despite her considerable strength, I am still much stronger. I give her a wide toothy smile allowing my fangs to show. She holds in her violence. She is learning to be well behaved after all, and they say you cannot tame a cat.

"Why should you care for what my reasons are? It is a free meal. Her blood is as good as any, and it is better than most. She was a woman of breeding in her lifetime."

"You are correct. I don't care what your reasons are, but nothing comes for free. I want something in return for my troubles," I reply plainly.

"What?" she demands. Oh well, there is only so much you can do to break a cat.

"You have something that I want," I answer stringing her on.

"I guessed that much."

"Oh, there is a little thing, that is much more than a simple thing that it appears to be. Something that is special to you and came from the time when you were mortal," I tell her without stating it exactly.

She narrows those black eyes at me. I am not phased. I hold the cards in this one. She throws out her arm violently. "Never! Do you know the nature of the thing that you ask?" she demands.

"The source of your power and the control of your soul," I reply with a shrug.

'No! You will not have it!"

"Then I will never give Lucy the third mark," I reply self satisfied.

She stomps her foot and bears her claws. She prepares for her transformation. My housekeeper is not going to be pleased at all. The blood on the wall will keep her fuming for weeks to come. Broken furniture, windows, and torn wallpaper will do even less for her. Dexeter prepares for the fight also. The cat looks around at her surroundings and amazingly enough, she controls herself. She takes Lucinda's hand and leaves. Dexeter growls several nasty things in their departing direction. She turns and hisses at him. She is more than a match for my daykeeper. I grab his wrist and pull him back. His job is to protect me from humans and some vampire threats, but he was not meant to fight a first link vampire. She does not pursue him. Her true aim is flight now. She slams the door. There will be more repair there, too.

I pull Dexeter to myself. "Tomorrow day," I say to him softly, "You find her home in the swamp. With your two colleagues, you take that which she holds so dear. Take Lucinda and bring her here."

He bows to me. Let's see how Camilla feels about that! I do plan to get what I came to this city for, and I don't plan to leave until I get it.


	23. Chapter 23: Rafael Afoot

Chapter 23: Rafael Afoot

Frank

London, England 1890

Sitting quietly on the banks of a river with my plumed hat and cane at my side, I remove my black leather boot from my poor old aching and I might add bleeding foot. For a vampire, I bleed far too often, but my feet were in none too good of condition when I was mortal, and, at least, I do not get the gout anymore. I just did not properly heal over the blisters before I died the first time. Being a condemned soul has many disadvantages. God finds no need to heal those that go against His way, but it sure does beat being in Hell, and at least I no longer suffer with the Black Death. I would have a hard time being a proper vampire if I felt like that all the time.

Alestair stands tall against the dark starlit sky. Of course, this could be due to the fact that he is 6'2", and I only stand 5'8". I guess it does not matter that I am the master vampire, and I should be bigger and taller than my underling! We have been together for twenty years now. Things have been so different this time. I have never had a companion for so long a time. Mortals die too quickly. Not to mention, they are a bit afraid of what I am. That is alright. I feel the same towards them. This is not to say I have any inhibition about hunting them and feeding. I just cannot make good conversation with them.

Alestair paces the ground impatiently. Youth is so impatient! He kicks the soil and grumbles several discouraging words. It is not the first time I have made a dead stop on him. It will not be the last either. He does not understand that I do feel my physical age. If I felt my actual age, I don't think we would make any progress at all. I have had a hard time explaining that 20 years is nothing to us, but I do believe he has felt the difference in time. Time does not move the same way for us as it does for mortals. I have been around for over 600 years, and nights, weeks, years all fly by. I am slower to change than my companion. Our clothes style attests to that. He keeps up with the style. What I picked up in 1870 suits me fine. Besides, that hat aggravates him to no end. What do I really care what I look like to others?

I have not killed anyone since I have returned. I know my companion would not appreciate that. So, I let Alestair do the negotiations with mortals from now on. He has a better knack at it than I do. I tend to stick my foot in and twist vigorously, and my feet definitely hurt too much for such activities. My companion has not lost his humanity yet. I guess I knew he would not quickly lose his ties so quickly, and that is one of the reasons why I chose him as my underling. I guess I want the humanity that I have not had since I was a child. I did want a hunting companion, but he is insistent that we go our own ways when it is time to feed. I think I may have opened my mouth a bit too much with those connoisseur remarks. After the first year back, he has hunted alone. I know when he has fed, and he knows the same of me. I always fear that he will go on the hunt, and he will not return, but I must give him his way, and I think he is too insecure in the nature of what he is to leave me yet..

I pull my clinging black woolen sock off of my poor torn foot. I knew it. There are several sizeable nasty holes in it. I stand up and limp over to him with my one boot remaining on my foot and the dirty sock on my right hand. I show it to him. He raises his lip in disgust and pushes me away. I grimace and look down at the poor worn sock.

"It does smell a bit, does it not, my friend?" I remark with a shrug.

He ignores me. I shrug and sit back down on the banks of the river. He finally sits down as well with his arms around his knees. He is in one of those downer moods again. He says I talk too much, but he does not understand. I have never had anyone to express my feelings to or tell my stories. If he talked to me a third as much as I do him, I would have his whole life story by now. I guess it is good that he has his times like this, although I do not think I would tire of hearing him speak. We argue most of the time, but I have had no desire to destroy humanity. Of course, I have gone this long before without a tear at all that lives. Talk to me about a hundred years from now. I do want to repent, but I cannot help but enjoy what I am. I have seen so many wonders in my time. Still, sometimes it is too much to bear and people can be so nasty.

I pull off my other boot, and that sock is in just as bad a shape. I dig through my things and come up with a needle and thread. I always keep a spare. I lead a violent existence, and my clothes suffer from it. This is not the first time I have mended my socks. With threaded needle in my left hand and the torn sock on my right, I set about my mending.

"Are your socks not torn, also, my friend?" I ask chirpily.

"It is none of your concern," he growls back.

I shrug. "Since we pause in our travels, this is a perfect opportunity for you to mend your clothes. I do hate it when my toes are hanging out," I remark, as I conveniently rip the sock further with my claw. I need to learn to be less animated in my talk. Frowning, I pull the rip together.

He mumbles something that I cannot make out. I turn on him and look at him with a question on my face. "You are apt with the needle and thread, are you not, my friend?"

"No," he answers, "My sister used to mend my clothes."

"Oh well, I will be more than happy to mend your socks, my friend. I have become quite good at this skill over the course of time," I say with pride. I've done some interesting new techniques, too. I do have a good time in a tailor shop, but I am not as animated as I was when we first arrived back in life. We also try to avoid meeting with the proprietors since then, but I still leave payments for what we take. I am many things, but I am not a thief. I still appreciate a fine piece of material and something that is sewn together well. "I had six older brothers and two older sisters and a younger sister," I continue, "My mother and sisters were quite occupied in trying to keep my brothers clothed. Father stood by the belief that the sewing was for the women, but the women of the family did not have time for my clothes, so I learned to sew, and I got dumped on with my other family members' mending jobs. I have become quite good at it with almost 600 years experience."

"I hate this existence," he mumbles.

"I know, my friend. You keep telling me," I remark. I have heard this often over the last 20 years. I guess it is a just reward for making him a vampire. I sometimes wonder if it is the boredom of the years, but he has not been a vampire that long. If he were mortal, there would be a good possibility that he would have lived as many years as he has existed. It doesn't matter. I still like him. "Give it time. You will learn to like it after awhile."

"No!" he cries out. This is nothing new. He must have had a hard time with his victim last night. "I can never grow used to this existence! I can never grow used to all the blood shed and all the violence!"

I continue my sewing without reaction to his words. I have been through this all before. "Never is a long backwards time, my friend."

He turns to me with a furrowed brow. "Huh?"

"Never mind, my friend." I splash my feet into the water. Although the water is cold, it does ease the cutting pain. The soft lapping water washes away most of the soreness. Sometimes I wish that Alestair was right about vampires feeling pain. I tell my feet what he says sometimes. It makes no difference.

I lean back on the bank and look up at the sky and smile. England has not been too bad of a place. I could learn to like it here. Although my companion gripes about everything imaginable, he has taken some pride in showing me about the ways of this country. His father had family in this country. His grandfather married a German woman and bought a nice plot of land outside of Weimar. I did think that Harker was a strange surname for a German, and I was right. "It is beautiful here, my friend. Do you not agree?"

He grunts a response and returns to his moping. I pull myself up and kick my feet to engage a splash. He is, as I, not too fond of cold water. He glares at me. "Why are you so backwards!" he complains.

I lean back again and say, "You know, mother used to ask that when it became obvious that I was going to be left handed no matter how often father broke my fingers. I was quite an insistent little bugger! Anyway, mother used to say that I had a bit of demon in me. I sometimes wonder what that woman knew!" Looking at him, I give one of those devilish grins.

He slumps his jaw on his knees and his look becomes more distant, as he looks at the city across the river. Silence steals across the shore. Have I said something wrong again. Mayhap, the reference to the demon bothers him. I forget that he has not fully grasped the concept of vampirism, and his state of being still scares him.

"Where are we, my friend?" I ask, since a change of subject seems to be in order.

"London," he answers quietly and still a bit distant.

"What river is this?" I ask curiously.

"The Thames, of course! Don't you know anything?" he complains.

We have spent 20 years on the British Isle, but it has all been in the North. We ended up in Scotland for awhile. He had a time explaining that one to me. My knowledge of the island is not the best. I thought it was all one country. "I have never been to England before we returned here together, but you should be able to figure that out from all the stupid questions I have asked over the last twenty years."

He shrugs. "I have things on my mind."

I can imagine. It cannot be good for him to think too much on such things. Vampirism gives him such a headache. "Come, my friend," I say cheerfully, as I pat his shoulder with my stockinged hand. He turns his face to me with his lip lifted in disgust. He pushes my hand with the musty sock on it away from him. I look at it and frown. "Come, my dearest Alestair. Remove your boots and socks, and I'll mend them for you."

He sighs, but he gives in.. He knows me well enough to know I am not moving tonight. He drops his feet in the water, but he still looks preoccupied. I scoot closer to him and lean on his shoulder and look up at him adoringly. He shoves me hard in the opposite direction. What else is new. I know such things aggravate him, but if he is worried about my antics, then whatever is bothering him tonight will be pushed aside. "Get on with your work already!" he commands.

I continue to smile at him. He is not the one in charge here. I return to my sewing. I finish up my first sock and reach for the second one. I notice that Alestair's eyes are fixed on the water. I know of his infatuation with the fact that our feet are visible under the water, but the water, although it accepts the stars and the moon, does not acknowledge our presence. He thinks too much. My time and age just put it down to witchcraft and went on with our daily lives. It is. I do not know the real reason why we do not cast a reflection, and I do not spend so much time trying to figure it out anyway. Kicking my foot, I splatter him with water. The cold water wakes him out of his thoughts. He turns to glare at me.

"I remember, my friend, when I first saw no reflection as I stared at a mirror in my home in Arad. I told you, when we first met that I had had a bad experience with a mirror. I did not lie. I was 60 years old when I entered into vampirism. I will tell you this, at that age, it is not a good thing to look into a mirror and see nothing."

"I guess we are demons without souls,"he mutters as he stares back at the water.

"Huh?" I ask for a change, considering that the problem with our souls has been the root of many arguments.

"My brother Elias used to say that vampires have no souls."

His brother was an entertaining piece. He had some interesting ideas of vampirism. Too bad I didn't get to teach him the errors of his beliefs. It would put a big damper on travel if vampires could not cross running water. I like my travel and seeing new things. "Your brother was full of cow manure, my friend. What did he know of vampires? I bet he never met a real live vampire in all his life." He turns and narrows those dark brown eyes at me. If looks could kill, I think I would be smoldering in Hell by now. Alestair makes a lousy vampire, but he does have some sinister looks for the job that I could never conjure. "Tell me, my friend, if we have no soul, how can we be damned?"

He turns away from me with those piercing eyes. "I don't know," he answers.

"Everything has a soul, my friend. We are just technically dead, and we should not be animated. Reflections occur to those things completely in this world," I effectively make up.

"Then why are we here?"

"Why not, Alestair, my friend? I happen to like it here in this world a lot better than Hell!" I point out reasonably. I am not after all a big time philosopher. There is too much thinking involved in such professions.

"Elias used to say that I was going to be a vampire," he says with a cynical laugh.

I kind of gathered this from what I have heard of this brother. So, I fall into the trap and ask "Why?" Hey, it is a new direction for the conversation. I never really questioned why his brother always imparted such stories to him. I just figured that he wanted to scare the boy.

"There were a lot of reasons," he answers with a hint of red to his cheeks, "My eyebrows connect, and I was always a bit anemic."

"I did not detect any anemia in you when we met, my friend," I remark.

"I grew out of it," he answers, "I was pretty healthy for a change then."

I pause in my sewing long enough to approach him. He narrows his eyes at me in another one of those prize winning glares. I brush his hair out of his face. He does only have the one eyebrow. I did not know that was a sign of vampirism. Oh well, I had long ago decided that Elias did not know squat. "They do branch! I've never noticed that before!" I exclaim happily for him. I get another dark glare.

I go back to my work, and my companion slumps his jaw into his hands. "I wonder where Elias is now, and I wonder how he would feel to know that he was right." He looks off in the distance and gives a rather sad smile.

He, like myself, knows that Elias must be dead by now. Alestair is after all 102. Silence takes him for a long time. I finish messing with my socks and wash them out in the river. I take to his socks next, that are as torn as my own were. He thinks that I am too preoccupied to notice, but he pulls a book from his coat. So, he is keeping a diary as well. I continue to mend his socks. Without a sound or a disturbance, I lean over to see what he is writing. His handwriting has not changed with time. It is as bad it was in 1824, when he wrote me a response to my letter asking about the house in Weimar. I still have that letter in my pocket. It was returned with my clothes and flute. The only difference in the writing is the language he is writing in. It looks to be English. We are both trying to keep our diaries truly secret from each other. I, of course, keep my diary in Italian. Most of this has to do with the fact that I have forgotten Hungarian. I could learn to read English if I really wanted to, but it does make him feel important to translate everything for me, and I think I know enough languages as it is.

"AW!" I suddenly cry out as I run the needle through the finger of my right hand. He snaps the book shut and gives me another murderous glare. I try to grin while sucking my wounded finger through a rather sizeable hole in his dirty sock. He pulls away from me and goes back to his diligent writing. I remove my finger from my mouth. It has already healed, but the pain lingers on. That is nothing new. I continue to smile as I work on his sock.

Finally, I present him with the finished product. He snatches the dripping socks away from me. I continue to smile and pull my feet from the water. I walk barefooted in the tall grass. "Shall we seek shelter across the bridge, my friend?" I suggest. He shrugs and joins me in my barefooted walk, which I find rather odd for him. He is usually so priss and proper. Oh well, I am not really complaining.

We sleep together in an old crypt with no windows. I never figured out the logic of putting windows in a crypt. What's the point? The intended resident doesn't need it. It reminds me of a limerick that I once heard:

Why do they put walls around graveyards?

Its silly beyond a doubt.

The people outside

Don't want to go in,

And the people inside can't get out.

This choice came about after an extensive argument that I won. Somehow the dead gives my partner the chills. He sighs and takes a seat on the floor, that the years of debris and decay have created a soil based flooring for us. Taking out a newspaper from his pocket that he picked up the last time we were on the other side of the river, which was eight nights ago . . . or could it be seven . . . I am not real good at keeping up with single days. Suffice it to say that he picked it up last week. He opens it out and immerses himself deep into its material. We really have not had much time in the last week until tonight. Rest has been rather a rushed thing. He like myself needs the rest. I have been able to pick up the scent of Lucy. It is not exactly like the sense of smell that humans have. I have a special link to her, because I have bitten her and she is in that in between state. I can sense her soul. The problem we are having is that we keep losing her. I know she is being helped to allude us. The information that Alestair is able to glean from these people tells this. All the same, the newspaper is not going to help him much. It does keep him a bit more up to date with what is going on. This form of literature does nothing for me. Written things were meant to last forever and have some true importance. It was not meant for the everyday man. Besides, the whole thing is in English, which I cannot read yet. I should not be so bloody stubborn. Oh well, it keeps him entertained, and he does not think so much about where we rest for the night. I soon sleep. The power that I extend to find our lady has drained me more than it has him.

I wake before the full sunset. I find the paper scattered across the floor in front of him. He is rather scattered like this most of the time anyway. I reach out my hand to touch him to assure myself of the reality of his presence, but I pull back. It would wake him. I know he is here. I tend to picking up the mess and arranging it in the correct order. I notice that one of the articles has been circled. I can read the words "Bloofer Lady," because I have much familiarity with the Roman alphabet. What strange words these English people do have! I wonder what significance this has for my companion.

I look up from my work to stare into his gentle dark brown eyes. I smile and nod a 'good evening' to him. I hand him back his paper and move back to my corner to fix my socks and boots back on. Fortunately the socks have dried over night, but they are stiff. I struggle with the effort to re-vitalize my socks, while my companion slumps to the floor and looks at the newspaper that I have handed him. He sighs and puts it aside. He takes out a handkerchief from his coat. He gazes at it with that distant thoughtful look. I cannot resist. This is too easy. I crack out my old bones and casually approach him without his notice. What can I say? I am a much more seasoned vampire. I get up right behind him and snatch the handkerchief from his fingers. I dodge his objections that come with clawed hands. I have gotten better at that over the last 20 years.

I escape him long enough to see what I have stolen. It is a white handkerchief with the finely embroidered letters of "JEH" on one corner. I can guess who did such work. I smile. I know what the "J" and "H" stand for. He has never told me what his middle name is. "E", eh? I would put my bets on "Edward". Jonathan Edward Harker? Yes, it does work. I really cannot pass up the opportunity to tease my partner. It is part of the definition of having a friend, is it not?

Coming at me, he tries to snatch the prize back, but I am far more elusive than he could imagine. I am quite apt at escaping oncoming trouble. If nothing else, I can disappear before his claws.

"Give it back!" he insists, " you have taken enough away from me!"

Ah, so serious. He does need to learn to lighten up a bit. I appear at the other end of the room and say, "'E', eh? Jonathan Earl?" I inquire, hoping that my assumption is correct.

"No. Now give it back," he orders me, "Lucy gave it to me."

"From that divine creature!" I exclaim as I hold it to my heart. I get another one of his glares and he jumps for me. He will never learn. I will not be caught unless I want to be. I strategically pop out of existence to appear behind him. "Hmm, Elias, maybe?"

"No," he replied with a smirk, "That is my brother's name. Now, give it back."

"Hey! Who knows. You may have one of those split personality problems," I remark offhandedly, "Vampirism does cause some insanity, but you get used to it after awhile." I dodge another attack. "Let's see, what other options do we have. Ezekiel, maybe?"

"No, Frank. Now, give it back. Lucy loved me, not you!" he informs me.

He should know by now that to say that is the wrong thing to tell me. What a lot he knows. I know she liked me a lot, and I will believe nothing else. Of course, since it bothers him so about that little bit, I will not bring it up. I will continue my teasing. "Eilif?" I ask brightly.

"Give it back, or I'll tear your throat out." Ooo, violence! Like I haven't heard this before out of bigger and meaner creatures than him!

I scratch behind my ear and think. I am out of men's names for the time being, so it will aggravate him more if I go to the lady names. "Ester?"

"I'm going to kill you!" he growls.

Sorry, someone already beat you there! "Eleanore?"

"This is not funny! Give it back now!"

"Ellalouise?"

"You have been warned!" I shake with fear, indeed! What can he do that he hasn't done to me before now!

"Elizabeth?"

I did sort of forget that he did get those claws along with the fangs, and I was a bit too cocky for my own good. He did make a descent move to catch me, I will have to admit. He got his precious handkerchief back, and I got a new bloody jaw. Was it worth it? Yea, I would have to admit. I tend to my wounds and follow him out of our resting place into the cemetery proper. A fog lays heavy over the tombstones, and it is a right atmosphere for what we are. Of course, in the last 20 years, I have found this country is full of rain and fog. So, it really is a normal night. My companion is not particularly thrilled with the scene before us.

I do my magic, so to speak. Somehow, it doesn't feel much like magic for me. It comes so easy for me to sense out Lucy's direction. I close my eyes and extend my senses outward. I have often sensed that other vampire near her, but this time something worse occurs. I feel my arms, legs, claws, throat, and all my innards freeze over with a familiar terror. My claws extend out to their limits. I want to bite my lower lip, but such actions could cause some serious damage to my lip, and my jaw hurts enough. My eyes open wide and I step back involuntarily.

"What is it?" Alestair demands as he stomps his foot. He has seen too many of my antics to understand when I am being true.

"Go back," I order, as I move back in the direction of the bridge we crossed last night.

"Lucy is here and she is in danger!" he states, "The people here know. I will not abandon her!"

Blinking my eyes at him, I am astounded at this statement. He has learned quicker than I gave him credit for. Yet, he knows how to read their language here and he is a bit more sociable than me. "What do you think they will do to us, my friend? She looks a lot more normal than we do."

"What difference does that make? I want to end this existence! Better that I die saving her this time."

He continues forward. Throwing up my hands, I sigh and follow. I cannot leave my best friend to face vampire hunters alone. I swallow part of my fear and push forward. I must be brave, which really is not part of my vocabulary, and I fear I am pushing foolhardy. I would much rather go back to destroying the whole town with the Black Death and digging through the dead bodies to find her. It would be easier. Looking to my tall friend, I know that I cannot. Is that not the reason why I asked for him to be returned with me, so that I would not cause such atrocities again? I drop my shoulders in defeat. I guess I would not be so frightened if what I sensed was just vampire hunters. Strangely enough, they leave me alone. I am a bit too obvious. Not to mention, I am more than able to create illusions to the human mind to make good my escape. This fear is something different. I grab Alestair's hand as the fear takes hold of my spine.

I get another one of those condescending looks as he violently tears his hand away from me. "What?" he charges me.

"He is here!" I answer, looking around as if he would pop out of the fog any minute now.

He furrows his brow and glares at me. "Who?"

I want to tell him, but he will think me silly if I tell him that I am running away from another vampire. He does not know Rafael like I know him. Rafael is powerful and rather nasty. Not to mention the fact that he is bigger than me and is none too happy with me. It has something to do with the fact that I put him under the suspicion of witchcraft in the middle of the Spanish Inquisition. I was not far wrong. Now, he is a vampire, and it terrifies me to come so close to his hunting ground. Vampire hunters running about does even less for my position. They can be bloody sneaky sometimes, and I have no daykeeper like my opposite. I doubt if I explain my trepidations to Alestair, he would be sympathetic. I think it may make him more determined and more reckless. I am not ready to lose him yet. I cross my fingers and hope that we run into neither vampire or hunters tonight.

We continue across town for a good ways. We come into a more cosmopolitan part of town, where things are a bit more lively than where we came from. My companion turns on me with a smile. I pause with puzzlement on my face. What have I done right to make him happy for a change?

"We're in Piccadily," my friend announces.

I furrow my brow. For one thing, this does not look like his part of town. "Piccadily, my friend? I thought we were in London," I complain.

He narrows those eyes at me again. "Sometimes you can be so slow. We are still in London. London is a big city, and there are parts of it. This part is called Piccadiliy. Lucy and I came here in 1814. I was on a well paying case at that time."

So, the confusion about where we are subsides, but other things make no sense. This is quite fun. He has not communicated so much about himself before to me. "So why were you doing real estate when I met you, my friend?"

"I became quite ill after the trip, and I had to go back to the paper work stuff and stay home. I became accustomed to the work, and I actually got quite good with it. So, I did not force myself to travel needlessly," he answers. He looks around the busy area with wide eyes with some sense of fond familiarity. "I was paid quite well indeed for the job, so I proposed to Lucy here."

It is not my idea of a romantic place to propose to the woman of my life in, but what do I know. Things might have been different 85 years ago. Humans change things so quickly. I smile at him. The good memory has lightened him up some. Rafael and vampire hunters can not make me pull him away from here. He is far too rarely happy and forgets his situation. I will just have to be very careful for the both of us.

We move through town happily. He points out places and tells me stories of what he and Lucy did there. I smile and feel a load lifted from my soul. I have finally won. His words suddenly fall quiet as some people pass us and stare. Alestair has kept with the fashion, but he does not take the time to tidy himself properly, so he still looks like some kind of hobo, and I just do not fit in anywhere. Our pallor does not help things any either. I make an elaborate bow to some lovely ladies that pass us by. The outdating of those damn high collars cannot come soon enough for me. It will make the approach to the neck so much easier., and why hide such beauty. Alestair addresses one of the dirtiest looks in existence in my direction. I may have been old when I became a vampire, but that does not mean that I cannot enjoy the aesthetics around me. I give him a toothy grin.

He continues his tour for a long time, and time escapes us. I had wished that this night would never end. There was so much to see and know, and it was indeed rare that my companion tells me anything, but I know when a necessity comes, and I pull at his sleeve. "We must find shelter. We can continue our search tomorrow."

His face clouds over. I think he had forgotten why we had come to this place to begin with. It irks me to break his bubble like this, but I must preserve our lives. He narrows his dark brown eyes at me. Why can I do or say? I motion for him to follow me. Fortunately for him, I do not chose any kind of residence of the dead for him. There is an old run down mansion close by. The cellar should have darkness and soil. So, I lead him in that direction. My eyes scan the dusty exterior with its dusty boarded up windows, that will help in keeping the sun's rays at bay. What can I say? It reminds me of home.

I hold out my arms out in display. "We shall sleep in style today, my friend."

"Oh good God," he exclaims, " I wanted to live in a big fancy mansion, but this place was not what I had in mind."

"Well, my friend, you will not exactly be living in it anyway. As according to you, we are not exactly alive."

He grimaces. "You keep reminding me that I am dead."

"Oh come, my friend," I continue on, "Let's not worry about that now. It must be dark in there, and I am ceratin that we can find some proper soil to sleep in."

I hear a few choice grumbles from my companion, but we proceed to the door all the same. I sense Rafael again, but he is not at home. Good! I crack my knuckles and get the proper stance. I raise my arms, throw in a bit of mist, and the door opens at my verbal command, which I have gracefully uttered in Italian. Alestair shakes his head at my vivid display. He knows I need not carry on so (especially with vampire hunters in town) to enter. A silent command would have been sufficient. Not to mention, we can walk through walls. I bow and offer him first entrance. He grimaces at me as he walks in. I enter and shut the door behind me.

The interior stands gloomy and musty. Yet, someone has been here within the past few days. Footprints of a recent nature lead to a dust covered table, where lie some papers and keys. Taking the papers in hand, because I am nosey by nature, I can tell that they are the deeds to the house. The scribbling at the bottom takes my firm attention.

"That no good stinking rotten dog! No imagination does he have but plenty of nerve! How dare! How dare he steal my name!" I cry out.

I throw the papers behind me and stomp off in a huff. I can hear Alestair behind me collecting the papers back up and he returns them to their place. Without looking back at him, I know he wears that common expression of confusion on his face as he looks over the deeds.

"But who is this Count Dracula, anyway?" he questions, "And what does he have to do with Lucy?"

"Never mind, my friend. You really don't want to know," I answer.

Alestair shakes his head and follows me to the basement, where Rafael would keep his soil. Damn him! He gets to travel in style! And what do I get. The shadow of my underling crosses my path. Nah, I am not trading places with him! A small dusty window presents itself high in the wall. I would say it is ten feet from the wooden floor. Five wooden coffins lay out in the open. I grunt a discouraging response. Rafael was not noted for his brilliance! Who knows. There might be a method to his stupidity, but I would prefer to think that he is an idiot. I throw our bundle of clothes in a dark corner behind one of the supports in the room, where there are four more coffins. Our sack of clothes will be invisible to human eyes in these shadows, but it will be no problem to us to find. The whole scene gives Alestair another puzzle to contemplate. He thinks on things too much! I only grin and open one of the coffins of soil. I offer it to him.

"You said you have never been to England before now!" he complains.

"I have not, my friend," I reply with a wide grin.

"The soil?" he questions.

"Not mine."

"But . . ."

"Rafael is afoot, my friend," I answer with a knowing wink.

He stands back and crosses his arms. Those dark eyes glare down at me. I am jealous! I cannot produce that sinister kind of look even if I tried! "One of your victims?" he accuses.

"Not exactly."

"Huh?" he queries.

"He is another first link vampire," I explain plainly.

"Huh?" he says again.

"Do not worry about it, my friend," I reply happily, "We can use his soil all the same." Mainly because it will really irritate him, and by the time he finds out, we will be long gone.

"We are going to do what?" he protests in his normal way.

"We are going to sleep in his soil," I repeat as if it is a normal everyday thing. I am a vampire. So, therefore, it is a normal everyday thing.

"Oh no we are not!" he insists. Alright, as a vampire, he has never slept in the comforts of a coffin. We have not had time to get him a proper fit.

"Or would you prefer that we go and find another place in a graveyard?" I ask with that wicked twinkle in the eye.

Those words send him off to beddy bye. I would have thought it was all the same, but the only dead thing he really has to deal with is me. I would have thought that would make this all the scarier. Oh well, what do I know. I lay him down in the dirt filled coffin and stroke his face. He grasps my wrist and pulls me away from him violently. Sleep takes him after a long while. I shut him in good a tight and nail down the lid. It would be no problem for either of us to pry it off or break through it. I wait quite alert until just after daybreak. In a land where the sun is usually a stranger, we have come into several clear days and night. The light of the morning sun soon twinkles with distorted rays on the far wall. I catch myself moving towards the fatal light that is too high up for me to touch. I do not want to die, but the re-enactment of my death I am drawn to repeat. I have never killed myself, but what better way is there to die than by the sun's holy light. I blink my eyes and shake my head. By the stream of light, I do some calculations in my head as to where the light will fall during the daylight hours, and I move the coffins around properly. I pull myself to the coffin and find my rest for the night.

I do not sleep soundly in such soil. I was laid to rest on Hungarian soil, and Spanish soil does nothing for me. I wake to the sounds of screams and whimpers. With a quick prayer that my calculations were correct in the course of the sunlight during the day, I creak the lid off to find cool darkness. I sigh with relief. It does not take much light to destroy me. My eyes survey the room before me to find a faint but effective stream of dusty sunlight laying across several of the coffins. My calculation were off a bit as usual. I should learn by now. I leave the safety of the coffin to stand a foot away from the stream of light as if hypnotized. I hold my arms and move towards the light like one possessed. I do not fight the urge. In a way I am happy to at an end.

Scratching and another shriek wakes me. Alestair! The cries would have to come from one of the crates in the light. What am I to do? I continue to move closer. How much damage will this faint beautiful light do to my hands. How much do I like my hands? Alestair is fighting his way out. I send a telepathic message for him to calm down. Silence for a moment, then he cries out again. Oh shit! I swallow hard and move closer to his coffin. I hook my claws into the wood and quickly pull. I fall backwards with my claws and the tips of my fingers dust on the floor. No blood escapes as I press my palms to the darkened side of the coffin that my claws achieved before disintegration. I pull with my considerable strength, and manage to get my companion out of the danger that approaches him. I would have to pick a fool for an underling! I smile. I still would not trade him off for someone else.

I fall against the wall under the window. Cuddling my fingers, I look up to see that Alestair has finally fought his way out. He sits up and weeps for a few moments. I was the fool for wanting him to adjust to what we are. I go to him and throw my arm around his shivering body.

"Shh, my friend," I encourage.

"I hate you," he tells me.

I pat him with my mangled hand, as he buries his face in his knees. "I know, my friend," I answer. I know his bitterness against what I have done, and I am used to these outbursts.

"I shouldn't be afraid of being buried alive. I'm already dead," he complains. I think I gave him that mental scar. I think I was a bit wary of enclosed spaces the first few years that I was a vampire. I got over it soon enough. I had a more acceptance of my situation than he does.

"Shh, my friend," I soothe, "You will grow accustom to this as well. Do not fear. It will turn out alright."

He goes back to the coil. I sit beside the mutilated coffin and stroke his face. His eyes stare out in the gloom with great fear. He does not push me away. His eyes blink a couple of times, then rest takes him. I will stay beside him so that he needs not be closed in.

A couple of hours pass. He is sleeping calmly. It is alright. My lack of rest is being rewarded enough. I just will not be worth much tonight. Oh well, what else is new, and I do need to stay out of others' minds. My hands will not heal tonight, but I should have new claws after a good day's rest. No wound is too permanent. I get a few scars here and there that stay.

The floor creaks upstairs. My ears perk at the sound. This cannot be. This old place is abandoned and a little off from the city. The floor creaks again at the sound of several feet. I shake Alestair awake. He grimaces at me. I hush him with one of my twisted wounded hands. He blinks his dark eyes at me in confusion. I have very few powers while the sun shines. I have even fewer with lack of rest. I still have the innate ability to control rats, because I am a big rat after all. So this place, that is rather infested with all other kinds of vermin to start with, has enough rats in the near vicinity to swarm upon the intruders. That will give me enough time to get Alestair enough back to reality and hide us.

"Come, my friend. We must hide!" I insist.

"Why?" he complains. This is not the time.

"Vampire hunters. They are upstairs," I explain hurriedly.

To confirm my words, a dog barks. What is the use of bring a dog upon a vampire hunt. The animal mind is easily dissuaded from our position! I yank my companion up. Although he is bigger and stronger than me on a normal basis, I still have a considerable strength. I throw him to the dark corner behind a sizeable support for the basement, where our clothes lay. "My diary! My handkerchief!" He cries out. I look back where he laid for his rest. I push him back to the hiding place. I run to the coffin where the things are. I grab them with great difficulty. I hear the door slam shut above. I feel. My clumsy hands cannot hold onto to the book. I drop it in my hurry. Alestair fights to regain it, but I have returned to him fast enough to hold him back from this fool errand. I gag him with my right hand. I feel his tears of frustration run down my bleeding hand.

We watch in silence as the three men enter the cellar. They look at the coffins, and the older of the three goes to one of the coffins . . . the one that Alestair pretty much destroyed. He crosses himself. He brings forth a holy wafer and breaks it into four. He places it into the dirt and says another prayer. He goes to the next coffin and does the same. Rafael is not going to be happy when he comes back home. It is not my fault this time! Of course, then again the foolishness of how these things were set up makes me wonder if he did not intend for such things to happen. Alestair and I both know that Lucy is traveling with another vampire. Maybe he is setting a trap for her.

The other two men find Alestair's diary. The smaller of the two picks it up, as I stifle a cry from my companion and keep him still. It would not due for us to be found. The man and his friend flip through the pages. The older man finishes his task and turns to them. They shine a lantern around the cellar, but I am an old hand at finding shadows, nooks, and crankies to hide in. They finally shrug and leave taking Alestair's diary with them. They ought to find that an interesting bit of fiction indeed! I finally remove my bleeding hand from his mouth.

"May we leave tonight?" I ask quietly. I am not accusing him of anything. I know the draw of certain places. I am a hard one to get out of Florence.

He nods.

"I am sorry about your diary. I tried. Will you forgive me, my friend?" I ask him.

He does not answer. I will get him a new book. I stroke his face with my disfigured hands. He pulls away from me. With some inventive moves, I pull his handkerchief out of my cloak. He snatches it away from me and moves to a dark corner. I leave him alone. He has had a hard day, and I have no right to invade upon him. I lean against a wall in my own dark corner and think quietly to myself as I cradle my hurting hands. When darkness comes, we leave. He makes no comment about my hands, but I do try to hide them as we travel.

We mark out a hiding place to meet and split up. He does not dare to leave me just yet. I know he will stick with the plan. My feeding sickens him, and I have used up too much energy to go without. After I have taken a victim in a secluded place, I fit my black gloves on my hands and make my way back into the city. I shrink back from so many passing people, but I must do what I must do. I throw my hat at my feet and pull out my flute. My fingers have not healed, but I expected that, but I still can play decently. I have been playing the flute since I was seven. I watch the passing people and take in a deep breath. I swallow hard and take a step forward. Closing my eyes and thinking on some more pleasant thought, I play the flute. My melody has a haunting sort of beauty to it that seems to please these humans. It is easy enough to raise money for Alestair's new book. I will not be unhappy to leave this place, but I am sorry my friend has had such a bad time in a place of fond memories. The best I can say is that we did not run into Rafael. That would not have been pleasant for either one of us.


	24. Chapter 24:Kidnapped

A/N; I'm Back! It has been awhile! Hey, Chapter 23 was one of my better chapters, what can I say! Anyway, thanks Katie for hanging in there!

Chapter 24: Kidnaped

Camilla

November 17, 2000

Rafael did not yield to my wishes, but what did I expect out of the dog. I would not have yield either. I take orders from no one and never will. Still, I wanted to know why he came to this city after me, and I have my answer. He wants to control me and my power! Not only have I heard enough of Lucinda's rants about what Orlock made Jonathan do, but I am a cat, and I want no one in control of me. He can rot in Hell before I would lift a finger to help him. His problems are his business, and I am not about to help him even willingly, even if it might spell my freedom in the end. If only I could find another vampire other than Orlock and Rafael, everything would fall back into place. I just need to be patient for a while longer. Dorothea is bound to become a vampire soon enough. What is a few days, months, years. I have waited over a 150 years to be rid of this burden. The Hell with this all!

Lucy came home last night silent. She did not leave my presence to sorrow in her loss. She knows what I am trying to do for her. In fact, she showed no sorrow or frustration at the failed mission. She actually seemed to be in some kind of happy daze. I know she is not exactly right in the head, but the dealing with vampires has often effected her in the proper way. Where has her mind wondered off to? Has she given up hope on ever being free again? She came home and went about her usual chores and hummed a song as she did so. Has any vestige of sanity left her now? She went to bed in the dark hours of the morning. Her slumber was quiet up until the time I went to my rest. This is most unusual indeed. It was a trying day, but there was no haunted dreams in her confused corridors.

I wake tonight and completely stretch all my limbs. I change my form to that of a domestic black cat to bathe. I have no love for any kind of water. I most sooner do without. After a thorough grooming of myself, I bound up the steps. I change back to my human form and strut about the house in search of a proper outfit for the evening. I am alone. There is no Lucinda to greet me. It is another odd occurrence. She is usually up and about at this time. She usually is the first to send a scowl at my immodesty as I streak through the house in search of nightly attire.

Curious, I go to Lucy's room and enter it. The room is dark and silent. She usually burns some kind of candle, but the scent is long passed. I enter the room proper to find that the bed has not been tidied at all. The covers are thrown off at odd angles. Another thing that is not at all like her. As I straighten the covers to their proper position, I find her soft black shoes tossed in two different corners as if they had been kicked by a multitude of feet. She never leaves her room without her shoes. Even in her worst fits, she has never forgotten her shoes. Still, this is a night like no other.

I shrug and gather my paper work together. If she has wandered off in the swamp, she will turn up again. I cannot overly concern myself with her doings. I must go to my job. Vampires don't need much in the way of money to survive, but funds do buy nice clothes and other things. Although thievery is not below me, I will exchange money for many a good or information, and when things are done in a more legitimate way, there is less suspicion about. So, I head out to my job. I know that Lucinda will be back home when I return. I must remember that she is not as helpless as I would like to believe.

The history lesson is more word of mouth than it is from the chosen textbook. I know better than what is printed there. I lived through it. Of course, the last time I was in France was 1907, and I doubt that my students would believe what happened to me there. I don't look as though I was about almost a century before. After a good class, I go to my office and I am soon joined by Dorothea and Maria. No rest for the wicked, but I shouldn't complain. It is not often that a vampiress can confess her nature and still be able to talk to the same human in a conversational manner.

"How did it go last night?" Dorothea asks straight out. She clutches her history book close to her chest in that silly sense of hope.

I look up at her and narrow my eyes. Shaking my head, "He refuses."

"Rafael is a paradoxical fellow indeed," Maria remarks as she takes a seat. "He is out romancing Dorothea, but he shows no interest in Lucinda. From what I have heard, he is a lady's man and would chase after any pretty skirt. What does Dorothea have that Lucinda does not? I mean after Lucinda becomes a full vampire."

"Thanks ever so much, Maria. I will have you know that I have some merit!" Dorothea objects.

She is correct in that. Dorothea may not be the prettiest of women, and Lucinda is pretty and petite, but Dorothea has that part of the soul that attracts us so. It is something that is difficult to put to words. We are more of a spectral being and we sense special souls. This is how Lucinda got in the mess she is in now. Oh well, it was all a hopeless cause to begin with. "Lucy is still very much attached to her Jonathan," I answer in yield to my failure. Jonathan must have been one hell of a man. "I doubt that she would live out the vampirism. It is not something that is really given to her nature. Dorothea is quite receptive to our telepathy and our empathy. She is attracted to us as much as we are her. This makes her even more attractive to a vampire than the physical appearance of a person."

"I don't think I really want to know the all of it," Dorothea states with the increase in the heartbeat. A little late for her to be nervous about vampires.

"I wonder what Rafael is up to?" Maria utters, "There seems to be more here than what is being told."

"Why are you so suspicious?" I ask as I narrow my eyes at her. It should have gotten out of her system a couple of days ago. I am still surprised at my own reaction and she is still truly alive.

"Why come to this place?" Maria asks. I really should have killed this one that night. There is nothing special about her, except Dorothea likes her, and I do not wish to upset her.

"Dorothea might well be enough to be. She is old enough now to be romantically interesting to someone like Rafael, and she has the power that we tend to like in a person. We tend to like someone that we can their touch minds without much effort. We especially like those that have no fear of that contact. They can prove interesting. So, that might be the reason why all three of us are coming to this place," I explain calmly giving a glance to Dorothea. Maria smirks and Dorothea's face turns an interesting shade of red.

"How can this be?" the brown haired woman objects, "I have never seen you now Rafael in my dreams."

"We do not dream travel. That is the special ability of the rat vampire. You are still dreaming of Orlock, are you not?" I demand.

She blushes a further red. "Yes," comes her soft reply.

I cast out my arm. "Send him away before it is too late! He will trick you into trusting him and bring death and destruction to everything that you hold dear," I point out. I have heard this ploy of his before, and he will do it to her.

"I can't," he complains.

"You must," I insist. I can't stand the thought of him doing to her what he did to Lucinda. She may have no husband to destroy, but she has a friend who stands at her side. I do not mention this, because Maria could be enough of an adversary if made suspicious. I do not kill that irritating little vermin, because I care for what the special one feels. I do not wish her hatred, and I cannot bring myself to kill both of them. Not to mention, Maria makes for good repartee.

"Why can't he change? You changed. Has he not the right also?" Dorothea insists like a five year old.

I narrow my eyes at her. She doesn't know what she is dealing with. I have run across this vampire and his work. I know what he is like and it burns me to know that he is after her. It is not to say that I haven't played this game before with my prey, but the tables are turned this time. "He is crazy," I argue, "He will trick you into believing he means no harm, then he will turn on you and destroy everything you hold dear. This is his way. You know this as a truth, because look at what he did to Lucinda. He still pursues her even knowing what his bite will do to her."

"Look at what you have done in the past. I don't see anything different in what you accuse him of than what you have done in the past. How do you he is after Lucinda himself. He is not alone. He speaks of another who is with him. Could his companion be a vampire also?"

I clench my fists and glare at her. "I am doing what I can to correct what I have done to Lucinda! If I was in the mind of wanting death to come to this world, we would not being having this discussion. As for another vampire, he travels alone. No one would be able to travel with him. He probably has created someone in his mind. As I have told you, he is crazy."

She shakes her head to deny me. "When was the last time that the plague reigned?" she asks pointedly.

"I don't know! I don't follow Orlock's doings!" I cry out frustrated at the fact we are having this argument. No one ever defends Orlock. No one is that stupid. We vampires are monsters, but he looks the part as well as acts the part. He has done truly horrible things that make even me cringe. All I ever did was kill a few deceived victims. That is a far cry from killing an entire town with the plague. I cannot believe that he has been able to deceive this girl into his ways. I look at Dorothea again and smirk. I guess I can. She isn't the brightest in the ways of common sense.

Maria frowns and gives one of those half laughs. "Don't be silly, Dorothea. Remember he is the cause of Lucy's insanity, and I am certain that he won't hesitate to do the same to you. Besides, at the rate you are going, I wouldn't be surprised to find you one night with fangs."

"I don't care!" she objects, "What has this mortal existence given me?"

"Mortality does have its advantages, but I can't think of any at this time," I comment.

Maria gives me a nasty look that I would be proud to be able to copy. "What can be so attractive about this monster?" she asks.

Dorothea grimaces and looks down. She shrugs. "I only like being with him. He makes me happy. He's always so cheerful. I like to hear his stories he has to tell."

"You've got a Desdemona complex, and you know what happened to her," her friend points out.

The brown haired woman narrows her eyes at the smaller woman. "Is Rafael all that much better? I like him, too, but it doesn't feel right."

"None of this feels right," the other comments.

"Perhaps," I interject, "It would be better if you pulled out now."

"I am too far into it now. If I get out of your problems, I still will not send Orlock away, and I seriously doubt that he would let me go now that he has come so far." She continues to look down as if in defeat. A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth as she has thought of something. "He doesn't seem to be aware of Lucy's presence here. He hasn't spoken of her. He only speaks of a man he travels with."

I sort of recall a man with Orlock in 1907. I wonder who he may be. Apparently Orlock is not as crazy as I give him credit for. Still this does not put him in the clear over his endeavors. The man could be a daykeeper to him. Daykeepers are usually a boring lot to have around, and I wouldn't participate in the practice except for my mistake to Lucy. I wonder what he could possibly say about a daykeeper that would entertain my student so and make her not see him for the villain that he is. Of course, I don't know how his mind works. I never have. I don't follow his movements. I don't like the taste of plague infested blood.

"You are completely hopeless," I say to her.

I know that no argument will persuade her. I don't know why I even care. Still, I hope when she meets Orlock in person, she will understand and survive to learn from the experience. I would love to know what he is up to. The three of us remain in conversation for a couple of more hours. Somehow, I feel human with a real soul around these two girls, And I can forget what I am. At last, I leave them and go on the hunt before I return home. I still cannot find Lucinda when I enter into my home. Maybe she still hides. She is more attuned to Orlock than I am. Of course, this time has been vastly different than the last times. No matter. I will stand and fight him this time. I have beaten him into the ground twice already. I will do it again, and I will see him dust again before the end. She will come out in her own time.

I stretch out my limbs as I enter the living room. I light the dead fireplace and sit for a few moments and watch the flickering flames play out their lives, as many memories of my past flood my mind. My reminiscences are rudely interrupted by the glimpse of white on the mantle. I pluck up the piece of paper with a vast misgiving. I unfold it and read:

"Ha Cat!

"You thought you would escape me so easily! I have my claws in your hide and you cannot run! You are more than welcomed to the luny. She is unharmed and will remain so if you give me what I ask. Come peacefully to Dorothea's home and leave message, for I am sure that she will know of my deed soon enough. I give you one week. If you care nothing for your slave, you will come in violence or not at all. In which case, I am sure that Orlock will be more than willing to take my prize off of my hands, regardless of the assorted sundry things I may do to her before handing her over. Keep this thought in mind, Cat! One week! Remember.

Love,

Rafael"

That fiend! How could he do such a thing to Lucinda! That poor confused girl is now in his grimy hands! Oh poor Lucinda! She has Orlock on one side and Rafael's claws about her neck on the other side! Why must she endure such things! Why does the writer of our fate do these things?

Why do I even care? She is my misfortune! Why can't I leave her to her fate. She is now Rafael's problem and no longer mine. I look down. There is a void where my soul should be. It has been too long, and I now am weak because of her constant influence. Why have I bothered to protect her for these 175 years? I can't give up now.

I crumple the note and throw it to the eager flames. What am I to do if I want to rescue her? I bite my lower lip and sit back down. Orlock has been straight forward in his pursuits, and he was a so much easier target to hold at bay. What am I to do now? Can I attack Orlock once the exchange is done and win her back? Yet, what will that dog Rafael do to her in the meantime? I rock back and forth in the straight legged chair. What am I to do? I am the cat, and cats always have a plan. We always land on our feet! What am I to do? I surely don't know.


	25. Chapter 25: Cat and Mouse

A/N: Since there iss some interest in this story here, I guess I will try to go back to typing it. I thank you.

This chapter is one of those that gives the firm reason why you don't write in first person present!! And be aware, this gets rather messy towards the end. Gore alert, but it is a vampire story after all.

Chapter 25: Cat and Mouse

Frank

England December 31, 1899

I wake early today, but this has not been all that unusual. The sun has not gone down to shroud the world in cool safe darkness. Alestair's troubled sleep often wakes me early, but I am glad to be here for him. He sleeps peacefully right now. Sighing, I lay back against the wall of our sanctuary for the day. I feel weaker than I have ever felt as a vampire. I have never gone so long without the vampiric slumber. All my powers are weaker and I can't twist the minds of others around me as well as I used to. I fear that some of the people that I have met might remember me now. What will ii do if vampire hunters seek us. Oh well, I have been there and done that, too. Watching Alestair sleep, I smile in resignation. It has been worth it. I have never been needed there to wake someone from the horrors of the mind before this life. I wonder what he sees when he dreams. He doesn't explain what happens, but some of them have to do with me, I know. There are many a time that he attacks me when I wake him. Many of my bad dreams concern him as well, but I am more than happy to see his face upon my waking.

There is a good hour before full nightfall. So, I pull out my silver flute to play it for awhile. I am so glad that vampires are not poisoned by silver like what Alestair said that his brother used to say. My life would be a complete mess if I was stuck with all the restrictions that this Elias would have put on me. This flute has been a constant indifferent friend for many centuries, and it holds many memories both good and bad. I don't know what I would do without it. I would have survived somehow, but I don't want to think about bad possible scenarios. This is suppose to be a night of celebration. I will be happy for this turn of the century. I thought that the turn of the 19th Century was happy. It will pale in comparison with this one.

The deep dark melancholy melody of my flute drifts in the cool closed air of our hiding place. Perhaps my melody is sad for the mourning of the last flicker of the 19th Century where so many good memories lie and the future is unknown. Still, I can't help but think that better things await me on the other side. My eyes flicker open to see the reasons for my hope.

His dark brown eyes watch me as he sits propped up on his elbows. I must cease my playing. He will be upset with me, and I don't want that tonight. Tonight is special and how we play our cards will determine what the 20th Century will hold for us. A turn of the century is different than any other New Year's Day, because it will determine what a whole century will hold versus just a single year.

I move my flute to my coat. Alestair does not understand that I am no longer the Pied Piper, nor am I Lord Misko anymore, nor am I the monster that he met in 1825. I am just simply Frank Luceo Stoor. Nothing more. I am a simple traveler with a friend at his side. Sometimes, I wish that I did not talk so much. My stories do more harm than good sometimes. Although he is often wrong in his beliefs and the way he reacts to things, I do respect some of his feelings about things. Is that not why I asked for him to accompany in this return? Is this not the reason why I made him a vampire in the first place?

His face does not betray his dislike to my music as of yet. I have found over the three decades that I have spent with him that he has no sense of music. It is true that most of the music I play is unconventional and I make up notes as I go along, but I don't think he knows the difference. I think he is a man more attuned to the written word than the musical word. He still tries to keep up with current affairs. Oh well, one of us needs to know what's going on. I just went my own way no matter what, and I often got in trouble for it. I could really get in some major messes now that the mind power is weakening. Ah, it is not that bad yet. I still can convince folks that white is an off shade of purple on a bad day. I have also noticed that he picks up magazines every once and awhile that are not particularly about news. I may still be unable to read English, and I am down right lazy about the whole thing, but I still can tell the difference between important writing and works of fiction. He just needs to pick up something a little more entertaining with the drawings. This new invention of photography is not all that. Pah! I can draw better than some of those pictures.

I smile brightly at him. "You wake early, my friend," I say happily.

He blinks his eyes as if coming out of another sleep. He shakes his head to bring about full awareness. His words come as no surprise. "How can you play that thing?" he demands.

I shrug. "It is quite simple, my friend," I chirp, "I just put it to my lips and blow." Well, it is more complicated than that, but that is the essential, is it not. His glare deepens, and I grin one of those toothy grins. "I was going to take up clarinet at one time, but I kept on banging my teeth, and my claws kept getting tangled in it. Clarinets were not made with vampires in mind!"

"Not that!" he growls, "You know what I mean. How can you continue to play that thing after what you did by way of it in Hameln?"

I knew it was coming! Sometimes he is so predictable. I still would not trade him off for the world. "Well, you see, my friend," I begin my explanation again for the millionth time, "this flute has been my faithful companion since 1295, and well, I am fond of it. There are not many things that survive that long, you know. It does tend to settle my nerves or bring me peace when I am disturbed."

"So, what's your problem now?" he demands.

"Oh, I just need a bit of comfort," I answer with a shrug, "I just go through phases like that. You know me well enough by now, my friend. How can I be too depressed when there are so many things in this world to find and discover?"

He grunts a response and turns his back on me. He goes about preparing to move on. A new night, a new search.

"Anyway, my friend," I continue not quite done with this conversation, "if I don't play it periodically, I will forget how to! That would be a most distressful thing indeed!" I put my hat on my head. He makes no reply to my words. I pull my hat forward to cast an ominous shadow over my face. I am still sorely aware that he can produce those sinister looks, and I often fear they are more frightening than my own. I can't have that. It is bad enough that my underling is a good 6 inches taller than me! I have by far the more wicked mind!

He gives me a brief glance and frowns. He shakes his head and kicks the ground. "Let's leave this place," he insists.

I guess he is right there. I can feel it is nightfall by now, and we do have a mission to accomplish. I pull myself to my feet and stretch. It has been too cold of late, and because of my lack of slumber, I have been feeling far too human of late. My bones make a series of pops and cracks. He cringes at my bones' obvious statement. "That is an excellent idea of yours, my friend. I do have a feeling of Lucy in my bones, but, on the other hand, it could be the arthritis acting up again."

The glare that I receive for that statement tells me several things. He really did not like the analogy, and I really need to work on my wicked looks. He is just too good at those! He really does not understand the methods I need or use to find our prey. It is a feeling. I can feel her aura. I knew her even before she was a partial vampire, and now I have a stronger link with her because of that bite I gave her. It is a very complicated method to explain to him, and he does get awfully upset when I talk about biting Lucy. I guess I should not use so many interesting allusions in the process. Smiling, I throw my arm around his shoulders. It is still a night to celebrate. He shrugs me off.

"I hope your sense of my wife is right! I may manage to keep my sanity through this night to rid the world of three obscenities!" he complains to me.

Hmph! Obscenities indeed! What does he really know of such matters! I realize that of late he has not had too good of a time, and his association with the humans around us has diminished somewhat. I think that our accents are making us stand out a bit more than what is sociably acceptable, but to call us obscenities because people have changed. Maybe it is time that we leave this country. Still, I follow Lucy where she leads us, and she has been mucking about in England all these years. Of course, I know he is still none too happy with the vampirism. He lets me know often enough. I pull myself up to my full not so impressive height and throw back my head, which dislodges my hat. With my nose in the air . . . mostly due to the fact my partner has six inches on me . . . I state in my most haughty air, "We haven't got her yet! So there! Nyah!"

All the same, I am torn between desires. There is a part of me that hopes we will succeed tonight. I never meant for Lucy to suffer in this way and for so long. Yet, all in all, I could wish to live longer and have him at my side. He is a grouchy conversationist, especially with our recent troubles. It has been different to have a friend to wake to.

Taking up my discarded hat, I lead the way out of our hiding place to meet the crisp and rather cold December air, soon to be equally if not colder January air. The virgin white snow out across the field makes me smile at its beauty. My partner walks on ahead of me with no interest in the scenery before him, but that's Alestair for you. Turning back to me, he gives me one of those looks that says that I need to get back down to business. Oh well, he has tracked up the pure solid whiteness. I move forward into the field and hold out my hands as one who is blinded or put in a dungeon and seeks to know his surroundings. Contrary to what my partner believes, this does help me to sense Lucy's lifeforce.

Alestair stands and kicks at the snow, but he says nothing. This is not the first time he has seen me do this. I jump with a sudden contact. I follow out the feeling for three quarters of an hour, then I stop short. There is another force out there. Far out on the horizon I see several large heavy stones and the second force is coming from there. I give out an exclamation of appreciation and move forward. The scene ahead of me becomes clearer as I approach, and I notice these structures are huge and most ancient than me!! That is indeed impressive. I also notice from my distance that these stones are set out in a logical and methodical order. The overwhelming aura of the place entices my senses and doesn't scare me stupid. That is a good thing, mind you. I am from a medieval time, and strange magical things are not good things. Such things are hard to shake off. Never mind I am a vampire, and that is not exactly a natural state of being. All the same, it is a wonderful thing to greet us at the beginning of the new century. Mayhap this is a good sign.

"It's only Stonehenge," Alestair comments flatly and unimpressed, "There's nothing all that great about it. It has something to do with cults and seasonal events, or at least that is what Elias used to tell me. I really don't see any reason for all the fuss."

I turn to him and narrow my eyes. One can really tell that he is a young vampire! "I think the place is magnificent!" I reply, "If I knew there were such places in England, I would not have stayed on the continent."

"Then I am glad you didn't know about it and came here with those damn plague rats," he retorts.

I blink at him a few moments. Does he mean the Black Death? I do believe I have heard it called the 'plague' before. I shrug him off. He really does not know me. "I do believe that the Black Death came here a couple of times, my friend, but it was not my fault. I did lose track of it sometimes, and it went its own way. Of course, not every city that I visited was infested with Black Death. I can choose whether or not to bring it with me, as you can well attest to."

He looks off into the structure in the distance, then he turns to me. "Why did you start up the plague in the first place?" he asks me.

"I died of it in 1348. Why I continued to spread it?" I remark as I shrug my shoulders. Looking down at my feet, I add, "I don't really know. I think I was given the power of vampirism to spread death and chaos, and I was happy to do so for all the pains I suffered in my life. I didn't lose any friends to it."

I think back to my years as Lord Misko, and I cringe now. I guess I have changed. Count Orlock was kind of proud of Misko, and he looked forward to creating the havoc that he did. Something happened during that time of changing from human to vampire. It is a vague memory, but I still remember it and hold onto it. It had to do with a woman, but then again, is that not the source of all of my problems. Yet, she did ease my suffering, and I came back with some sense of hope. Alestair thinks that I am an evil soul, but he really has not seen true evil from me yet. Lucy reminded me of this woman. This memory ranks up there with the time I spent with Giovanni, and, like the experience that I have in trying to see him again, I wonder if the truth is as allusive.

In the distance I hear the clock strike out the death of the 19th Century, but it also signifies the birth of the 20th Century. Grabbing a resisting Alestair close to myself, I embrace him tightly. Completely insulted by my emotional outburst, he desperately tries to push me off of him. I succeed in kissing his cheeks and giving him a stronger embrace. He finally succeeds in pushing me off. With the sudden force, I stumble and fall back. Recovering myself quickly, I sit up and smile at him.

Opening my arms up wide, I exclaim happily, "Welcome in your second century as I do my seventh!" He glares at me.. Picking myself up, I turn to pick up my lost hat again. Holding that hat to my heart, I make an elaborate bow to him. Rolling his eyes, he shakes his head. I place my hat back on my head and look up at him. "See, there is a good thing about being a vampire. I bet you never expected to see the Twentieth Century, my friend!" I announce. Of course, in my opinion, I think he would have been lucky to see 1826.

"I had no desire to see it, as I still have no desire to see it now. I would much rather be in my grave!" he retorts back.

"Tsk, tsk, my friend!" I exclaim and throw my arm around his resisting shoulders. "This beginning of the new century is my best yet! Come! What did you do at your last turn of the century?"

"I was sick," he grumbles as he successfully pushes me away.

"See! You have found another good thing about being a vampire!" I exclaim. Hey, I like this existence.

"I was bed ridden because of anemia," he remarks with a frown.

Taking hold of his wrists and standing on the tips of my toes, I look into his eyes. My forehead and nose touch his forehead and nose. He quite forcefully pushes me away, and I again I find myself on the ground.

With a self satisfied smile on my lips, I hold up a finger and announce nonchalantly, "You are not about to have any problem with anemia whatsoever tonight, my friend."

"If you do that again, I will tear your miserable throat out!" he growls. Threats, threats. I have heard them all before.

I shrug. "So, which of my seven turns of the century do you want to hear about, my friend?"

"None of them," he snaps back.

"Let's see, my friend. The turn of the 14th Century was quite nice for me. My father was preparing to take me to Florence for the first time."

He turns to me. He might not want to hear my yammering, but he does listen and responds. "Why not one of your older brother?" he asks.

"Oh, they weren't around then," I reply with one of those smiles that scares the pants off of him. He should know better than ask such things by now. Never mind I was only 12 then. I was a busy bugger, and father thought me useless. His jaws drops open and the look of astonishment is priceless. Shrugging, I continue, "How do you think that I got to be lord with all the wealth and land?" I give him one of those dark foreboding looks that I know he can't outdo.

He blubbers something incoherent, but I ignore him. I pull myself up straight and head out to the structure ahead of us. Yes, this century has started off well. This century will be a good one if this is truly a taste of what is to come.

With a mixture of feels like a cold or that creeping that goes up the back when something is not right, I stop short of the destination. Alestair manages to stop before running over me. "What is it?" he queries.

I squint my eyes and see movements of people. My insides quell. This is not the time and place for this mission. "There is a gathering there," I tell him.

"So, you can single her out," he replies. He knows too much. I must learn to keep my mouth shut a little more often.

"I guess so," I mutter. I force my foot forward then pause. It is almost like a barrier between me and my goal, but there is no magic about this. It is only in my mind. I turn and look back at him. "Maybe, my friend, she will be here tomorrow night."

"What's wrong with you?" he demands. The look in his dark brown eyes mean business and not pleasant business.

"Well, my friend, do you not think that it would be a bit suspicious on our part to drag her screaming and yelling from a crowd of people, much less you performing your duty to her?" I query in the most logical sense possible.

He gives me another one of those nasty looks. I guess my logic does not work for him. It made sense to me. "Your excuse is feeble."

"She will be back tomorrow night when there will be less people about," I argue.

"No! We go for her tonight! No more of your excuses."

Who is in charge here anyway! I stomp my foot and hold my ground. "Alestair, she is a sensitive woman. This will draw her back."

"I don't care! She has suffered enough!"

I grimace, but I continue forward. with him. I jerk my head at a strong impulse of her presence. Just outside the circle of stone that stands a good quarter of a mile, a fuzzy image of a slender cloaked figure moves from stone to stone. The scent is Lucy's.

Alestair hits me square in the back that causes me to stumble forward. I really should have waited for him to get older to make him a vampire. At least our physical strength would have been similar. I look at him indignantly. He probably would not have made it to my age. Oh well, I will be happy with him as is. After all, he gets too aggressive, I have other ways of subduing him.

"Find out if it is her. If it is, bring her to me since at this point in time I am more important than you are. After all, you cannot tell me what it is oyu are afraid of."

"Hmpf! You are 500 years younger than me, and I have to do all the footwork. Not to mention, your feet are in a hell of a lot better shape than mine are!"

I make a few other comments that are not worth repeating. I work my way to he site. The cloaked person, who at this point I have no doubt is Lucy, freezes at my approach. Having been a vampire for a good many years, I have many special powers and telepathy is one of my better powers. I send a mental message to her to stay put as I work my way towards her. Hoping not to frighten her, I spread out my hands and send a peaceful empathic message to her.

She suddenly cries out and pulls away from my urging. She freezes again. Shaking my head, I again approach her. I again give a glance to the hooded cloaked people, who stand in the midst of their ceremonies. Oh good, I sigh. They will not be interested in my pursuits. I send a mental image of my partner to her. She whimpers and pulls farther back.

"No. No. He is alright," I tell her mentally. Well, he is alright as he can be given the situation.

She tries to break free of my spell and flee, but I am good at what I do. I gain ground. I wonder if Alestair has any inkling of how much pain he is causing her by having me chase her down alone. Oh, I should not be so harsh. He is right. What if the people break from their ceremony and find any of us? I swallow down my inhibitions. I stand about six feet from Lucy. In a way, I am glad to be close to her again. A smile crosses my lips at the memory of so long ago. I felt like a person again at that time instead of the monster that I am. I will have her hand in mine again.

Suddenly, I am pinned face forward in the dirt. A growl of a wild animal reaches my ears. A chill runs through me that has nothing to do with the January weather. Claws sink deep into my shoulders. Fearing for my prey, I send a mental message to Lucy to run. No argument. She obeys this command. Good. She will not be hurt. She may even run into Alestair in her flight. I hope he can figure out what to do.

OWW!! The creature runs those claws down my back. I pant with pain. I wish Alestair was right about vampires feeling pain. I try to pull myself up. If I could face my assailant, then I could flee. The claws return. Help! Mother! OOOWW!! The creature digs the claws in deep like an animal digging in the dirt. The severing cuts into the back of my neck. Teeth bite in to my shoulder. I don't want to know. Still the pain is extraordinary. **OOOOWWWW!!** The growling breath of my attacker blows in my ears. The sharp pointed teeth tear at one of my ears. It shreds my right ear. I still cannot move or get up to fight back. It goes to my other ear. Tears stain my face. I gasp. There is no escape. I must endure this.

"Alestair!" my telepathy calls out. The message is immediately followed by a scream of anguish. The creature bites into my face. I can tell what it is now. A big black panther. This knowledge does not help me any. AWW!! It has torn away my right cheek. I try to pull away again. My strenght will not allow it. I pull my head up. OOWWWW!! The cat bites into my forehead. Blood settles on my gasping lips. I wish I could use my claws. I may have been able to escape if I had been attacked from the front. I choke. OOOOOOOOOO!! It tears my shoulder. "ALESTAIR!!!"

No response. Is he alright? Another growl emits from my tormentor. Its back legs tear my legs to ribbons. Those teeth tear at my left arm. More tears roll down my pain stricken face. "Jonathan, please help me," my mind pleads.

Still no aid nor response comes. At last the monster leaves and flees. I lie in my own blood. I push forward with my forehead in an effort to right myself. I cannot gain my feet. I lie immobile and unable to open my eyes any longer. Oh, Alestair. I hope you are alright. I hope you are alright and the beast has not gotten your scent. At last, unconsciousness states claim to my weary mind. The pain leaves for a brief time.

When my eyelids choose to flicker open once again, I find myself back in our hiding place. I stiffly and painfully turn my head to see Alestair fast asleep. He is unharmed. The cat did not get him. Thank goodness I should not have called for his help. What could he have done anyway? I lay my still bleeding body back to the cave wall.

I want to beg a response from him as to why he did not help me, but I know to seek such an answer is wrong. I do not want him hurt. I will not wake him to ask him. He has found sleep, which he has so much trouble in finding. I will not wake him to confirm my belief that I am not worth his saving. I would have been terrified as an onlooker. It was not much fun being the main attraction either. At least, he does care something for me. He must have carried me here, and he saved me from the dawn. I smile. My face has a nasty complaint to add to that, but it does not matter. I am worth saving in his eyes. I catch a glimpse of white on black. I would smile even wider, but I am in enough pain as it is. He even saved my hat.

I close my eyes and fall into a state of sleep or unconsciousness. He cares to save me from the people and the dawn. Tomorrow my wounds will be healed, and I must hunt. Tomorrow, Alestair will be at my side again. I will not be alone. Yes, the beginning of this new century will indeed be a wonderful one.


	26. Chapter 26: The Captive

A/N: Well, I got back to typing this up and I was wrong. There is no interest in this story out there. So, it will be time to put it back on hiatus again.

Chapter 26: The Captive

Rafael

November 17, 2000

I rise tonight to find my daykeepers standing around. Each of them bear a devious grin. A soft whimper comes from the background. They have succeeded in their task. I go through their ranks to come to a small hooded figure on her knees with her hands tied before her. I place my hands on her shoulders and pull her to her unsteady feet. Blood stains her black cloak. With some concern I run my hand through her soft hair and brush back the hood. The frail, thin, pale, young woman before me shocks me. Why hide such beauty? Her bright, wide, green eyes accuse me of the blood that runs from her wounded jaw into her white gag. I brush back her dark brown hair. She pulls away from my touch. One of my daykeepers push her forward. I hit the daykeeper with a heavy force. I turn quickly onto the other two.

"Why did you hit her?" I demand.

"She struggled, my lord," one answers as he backs away from my anger.

I grab him by the throat. My fingers dig deep into his flesh. He chokes and struggles to free himself. His warm thin blood drips down my hand. I throw him to the floor. He gasps and cringes back.

"The three of you are from civilized cultures! Why must you treat this proper lady like some wild animal? Dexeter, you were once a mild mannered man. My influence over you should not cause this."

He does not answer. I hold my strike. "Dexeter, appease my anger and tell me what happened."

"My lord, we went to the swamps, where we expected to find Camilla's home. A shack rose from the stagnant waters. We assumed that this was her hide out, and we were right, my lord. We split up in three directions and crept up on the place. The crazy creature moved about outside of the shack and fell to her knees as if she were in prayer. The morning light slides across the field. As the sun came level with her, she looked up. Her eyes unblinking took in the light of the new day as tears ran down her cheeks. I . . . my lord . . . " he shakes his head and continues his narrative. "She stood up and reentered the shack. We approached with cautious steps. Not one splash was heard from us. At last, our feet touched the island the old house stood upon. We gathered at the door like creeping shadows. I entered first, but there was no one in the house that I could see at first. The house showed all the usual signs of occupancy. He crept around to the other rooms. I entered a bedroom. The bed appeared to have not been used for at least a week. We moved onward to the other bedroom. This was the room where the lunatic resided. We silently entered the place where she slept in restless dreams. She suddenly sat up and stared straight at me. We whimpered in an almost musical voice, 'Jonathan?' I was frozen with his mis-recognition, my lord. I am sorry. My two companions grabbed her at this point. She tried to scream, but I hit her. I gagged her. My partners bound her hands. We shoved her roughly from the room. Leaving her to my companions, I wrote her catship the letter that you instructed me to. We shoved her through the door. We moved her across the fields. When she paused and tried to break free, she was properly beaten by us. Upon reaching the border of the fields, we took turns dragging her literally through all the back alleys to get here, my lord."

"I would hope that you had enough sense to take her through the back ways, but I had hoped as well that you would not have been so violent about this job. Did you not think of bounding her legs and carrying her here?"

"But, my lord, she is unclean!" Dexeter insists.

"And, pray tell, what are you?" I demand.

"My lord," he submits as he kneels before me.

"Get up!" I growl.

He obeys. Looking up at me, he says, "My lord, what are you going to do with her?"

"Never you mind! You and your companions, leave us!" I order with a snarl.

The two daykeepers leave me without anymore incentive. Dexeter pauses a moment and looks at my prize. He shakes his head. She smiles slightly at him in a knowing way. He returns the smile and joins the others. What has she been able to do to them? She should have no power like the rest of them. She only doesn't know where her allegiances are.

I look at this crazy creature before me. She stares back at me with those wide eyes. Her fear has passed. She has gained the pride that I would have expected from a woman of that time period. I take a handkerchief to her wounds. She pulls away from me. I stand back and look her over. She is not unattractive. I run my fingers through her hair. She pulls away violently. I smile. I wonder what Orlock saw in her and why he chose her for his evil. Was she the best way for him to inflict his pain upon? Or did she accidentally pay him too much attention? Is part of a bigger evil plot of his? Knowing him, there is no telling. Whatever it is, he will not get her from me. He will have enough trouble from me over his pursuits of Dorothea. I will be glad o see him destroyed at last. I will see to it personally.

My prisoner turns her face from me I may complete the cycle on her even if Camilla does not respond to my threat. She is worthy of me. What did I expect from all that I have heard of this woman. Now that I see her, I can tell she is of a noble blood. I place a hand on either cheek and kiss her forehead. I receive a prompt and sever kick from her stockinged foot. I hold her head up to make her look at me. It may be an entertaining and amusing task to break her to my will.

Dexeter enters my room and bows to me. "My lord, I . . . Will you be feeding her?"

I look at the mild, little creature before me, and I quickly forget that she desires raw, bloody meat. The violence does not become her. "She is our guest. Of course we will feed her," I answer.

"May I fetch the food for her, my lord?" he asks.

I turn my eyes to him and stare for a moment. He stands without a show of emotion, but I know he is up to something. Eyeing him, I say "I trust you more than your companions, but don't push it! You will find my claws deep in your hide if you betray me. Fetch her meat once you have firmly secured her to this chair."

He bows to me and obeys my command. He has no choice in the matter. It is odd that he seems to have become so interested in this 'unclean creature'. Within the short while she has been here. She watches with a divine gentleness as he scurries about to tie her down. Catching her eye, he is forced to smile at her. Catching himself, he blushes slightly and hurries off to his task. I turn to her. She looks to me with her pleading green eyes. With some misgivings, I leave the room. Odd, she should have no power whatsoever over me or my daykeepers, but I have my doubts. What have I gotten myself into? I am certain that it is nothing that I can't handle on my own.


	27. Chapter 27: The Trap

Chapter 27: The Trap

Jonathan

Normandy, France February 1907

Frank sleeps. It is nearly dusk. I should kick him awake, but he sleeps so softly. Elias used to say that when a vampire comes into existence, the body is taken over by some demon. Am I some sort of demon, who still claims some of the spirit of Jonathan Harker? I have all the memories of being Jonathan Harker, but could I have stolen those as well from this victim? Couldn't I just push those undesirable memories out . . . the memories that make this existence a living Hell? Isn't vampirism something that a demon should be proud of? I complain to Frank about this problem, but he always acts like I am acting normal for me, or that I am just being stupid. He never gives me a straight answer, and he barely knew me as a mortal. How would he know if I am acting normal for me or not? I do feel that I am different from what I was 1825, but that is because I am a vampire or is it just the normal progression of the soul? If I am a demon, shouldn't I feel that Hell is home and not be so afraid of it? Could the soul of a mere human dominate a demon as much as I fear? I wish I ignored my brother more than I did, but he was so insistent.

I look at Frank. Over the last 36 years I have grown fond of him. Is he some sort of confused demon as well? His soul is so different. He is not Count Orlock of 1825, even though I still see some Orlock in him still. Yet, the name Orlock is no longing fitting for him. Anyway, he tells me that that is not his real name. Why doesn't he take the name of Misko any more? He hasn't had that name long enough that he would not be recognized for what he is. He keeps telling me that my friendship (that I have yet to give him) is something very special to him. So, why doesn't he try to gain it under his real name? I guess I should feel some kind of honor in that he gave his real name.

Frank cannot be trusted. When we first met, he pretended to be my friend, but when he got the chance, he caused me the greatest of pains. I have no idea what he made me do to Lucy. He confesses some of the things that he made me do, but the more he tells me of vampirism, the more fear of what I might have done that he didn't tell me haunts me. I have the feeling I was a vampire for longer than a couple of days before I was imprisoned.

I look at his sleeping face. In many ways he reminds me of a child. He is so incurably curious of the silliest things. He irritates me at times with his sickeningly sweet sentimentalism. This is not Orlock, and from what he has told me of Misko, it is not him either. Most of the time he is so nauseating. He seems too happy to be real. I wonder what he is up to. If I tell him if something he has done is wrong, he ceases to do it. I will not allow him to summon the plague rats like he has wanted to do on occasions. I don't know why that should matter to him. He can do it regardless of how I feel. I am not the one in power here. I will not let him kill his victims. When I suggest that he does not kill someone, he gives me such a curious look.

Why should me words have any effect upon him? He does not harm those who insult him if I ask him not to. He clawed a man once, and I became upset. I refused to talk to him all that night. He followed me and begged that I not go away. He asked me why he shouldn't hurt the man. I don't think I ever answered him. He does things that aggravate me, but most of the time I just let it pass. Many of his tales frighten me, because they make me aware of the monster that I travel with. Sometimes his tales are sad, but he always tells me them in such a cheerful voice that I have no choice but to believe him. His scars tend to back up his words.

I still don't understand how a vampire feels pain. Elias used to say that vampires were superior to humans in this. Since vampires are dead, they no longer feel pain or can be weakened like a living man. Yet, when I cut my palm or bite my lip, I feel the pain. Why? It doesn't hinder me as much as it used to when I was mortal. I do get tired, but I can tolerate it better and longer, and it comes less frequent. Frank seems tired more often than he should. I know that he lies about how often he is tired.

Elias would get a good and hearty laugh out of the nightmares I endure. I know damn well now that he didn't know anything about vampires. He used to tell me that vampires were the source of nightmares. I wonder if I have ever caused anyone nightmares. Frank has often awakened me from nightmares. Sometimes he laughs at me for my troubled mind. I have known him to have bad dreams as well. When I wake him, I don't laugh at him. He tends to hug me a lot when he wakes up. He won't talk of these dreams. Maybe he is afraid that I will use this fear against him. I would like to, but I know I can't. I am a little too much like Jonathan Harker to kill him, and he is a bit too human.

His eyes are flicking. He is waking. I gather my clothes into a bundle that his spare cape is used for. He wakes and stretches with loud pops to his old bones. I pretend to ignore him. I wish not to express my concerns for his pleasure. Someday I will remember he is a vampire and he murdered my town.

"You're early, my friend," he says while rubbing his nose and eyes.

"Why must you always call me 'my friend'? After all you know how much I hate you."

He shrugs. "I am a hopeful person. Anyway, you are the best friend I have ever had."

I glare at him, but his eyes are bright. He smiles widely at me and takes my bundle away from me. I wonder sometimes what he is planning. He really has no reason to be so happy.

"Onward with the search, my friend!" he cries out. He leans over to me and winks, "Lucy is in the near neighborhood. Her scent is clear tonight, my friend."

"I hope so. I am sick of traveling with you!"

"And I might add, she smells a heck of a lot better than you do, my friend."

"Your scent is no pleasure either!"

"At least I know how to bathe, my friend."

"We should have the scent of the grave where we belong."

"Is that your excuse for not bathing?"

"I did not choose this existence. You will live with my scent. It serves you right."

He stomps his foot with his hands on his hips. "I'd bite my thumb at you, my friend, but you aren't worth piercing my thumb over."

I shake my head and follow him out of the hidden catacombs we used to hide from the sun. I should not follow Frank to such places. We mock the dead with our decrepit presence. We will be punished for our disgracement of the who should be left to their peace. Their angry souls shall have their vengeance upon us someday.

The smell of the new fallen snow clears away the scent of the catacombs from my head and brings me thankfulness for our departure. I look at the snow and smile sadly. I miss Lucy. When it snowed in Weimar, we used to go walking through the virgin white blanket arm in arm. Later, we would go ice skating. She was like a feather floating on the air next to my clumsiness. We would return home to the fresh scent of breead in the warm interior. The warm fireplace brought us great comfort to our frozen limbs. Oh, how I wish I could be warm again. Oh, Lord, why have you done this to us? All good memories are passed. She wanders in this foreign land in this snow covered month of February.

Frank throws his arm around my shoulders as he so often does when I am troubled. I shove him away. His body does bring a little warmth. I guess it is that cloak that he wears. He pauses a moment and looks across the snow. He utters something in the beautiful french that I cannot quite understand. He smiles at my puzzled look and says to me in my native tongue, "Snow, so peaceful and quiet, laying in a blanket of peace and death, share your calm with me."

I stare at him a moment and feel a chill rush through my body. He shrugs and continues forward. I don't understand this strange creature. He fits his black gloves on his hands that he has had specifically made to fit his claws. I turn away from him for only a few moments. The next thing I notice is cold icy snow trickling down my back, where he has dropped a handful. I turn quickly on him, but he is not beside me. Suddenly a ball of the icy substance hits against the back of my head. I huff and turn about. I sling a sizeable handful at his laughing figure. We continue several exchanges until both of us lie down in the snow.

"See, my friend. I can make you laugh," he says to me.

I sit up and shrug. He brushes his hat off. The once fluffy white plume now clings to itself from all the moisture of the snow. Shaking my head, I scatter the snow from my stringy hair. Opening my eyes, I notice a cloaked figure a little ways off. I jump to my feet and cry "Lucy!" I run in her direction. I feel Frank's presence behind me. I reach the place of the cloaked figure, but she has fled. I continue after her.

"Wait!" I hear Frank cry out.

I ignore him like I so often do. I see her flee into a barn up ahead. She must think I am Frank. I look so pale and sickly. I believe she thinks rightly that I am dead. I am certain that my dark clothes in this dark night do not help her tell the distinction between us. I continue to run in pursuit.

"Wait, my friend," I hear Frank's voice, "She's not Lucy!"

I still ignore him. I flee into the barn. Looking around, I find that I have lost her. Frank soon joins me. Gasping, he tried to pull me out of the barn. "Where is she?" I demand since he is the one who can sense her.

"She's not Lucy! There are no tracks in the snow. Come. I cannot feel her here. It's a trap! I feel others here, and they don't mean us well. Come. Let us leave here, my friend."

I dislodge him from my sleeve and move on. He returns to my arm and tries to pull me away. "Please, my friend. We shall be killed. Please, let us go," he whines. Looking about the barn for some sign of my love and effectively ignoring him, for I know he wishes to extend his existence, I suddenly stop short and can move no further. I can see no barrier, but my foot refuses to move forward. My eyes cannot deceive me. My eyesight has become best in this light. I try to push onward, but I feel Frank's clawed hand at my elbow. Pulling at me, he is unable to dislodge me from the spot.

His hand catches my sight as he swings back for an attack. I turn to see him suddenly drop his arms to his sides. He grabs for my wrist and pulls again. He drops his hands again and utters, "Oh shit!"

I finally look down at my feet as I feel his trembling back against mine. Seeing a heavy line of salt at my feet, I remember my long imprisonment in 1825. I look up to see farmers coming towards us. Carrying garlic and many holy objects along with some things that I am not familiar with, they encircle us. Feeling Frank's cold wet plume against the back of my neck, I understand fully his exclamation. I wish I knew how to pay attention.

The cloaked woman, whom I thought was Lucy, stands in the hay loft. She throws back her hood to reveal a woman much younger than my Lucy. Her bright black eyes strangely remind me of Frank's eyes. She tosses out her raven black hair like a great bird of prey. It falls gently against the features of her ivory face. She points her graceful, petite hand with long, delicate nails at us.

"Villain and accomplice! Whether he be your daykeeper or otherwise, the both of you will suffer the same fate. Neither of you shall harm the girl any longer. She will remain with me. Both of you shall die for your evils to the poor girl's life."

Her exit does not concern me as much as the angry mortals who surround us. I despise this existence, and I greatly fear it, but I have to agree with Frank. I hate Hell a lot worse. I know these people will make us suffer dearly before they allow us to leave this existence, and I cannot place blame on them. My partner's trembling hands grasp my hands. His mind is working out a solution . . . I hope.

"Hold, my dear people," he says in that peculiar accent of his that I note is a few degrees higher than usual. My train of thought pauses for a bit with a curiosity. My partner surely speaks in French, but why is it I can understand him? This setting is not the appropriate time or setting for such questions. "What have we done to harm you?"

"Nothing, yet, but you are vampires, and it is the nature of vampires to cause harm eventually," explains one of them.

"How do you figure that we are vampire? This is the Twentieth Century not the Fourteenth, my dear fellow," he explains logically.

His hands suddenly release mine as he cringes back with a yelp.

"Explain the burns, evil one!" orders the spokesman.

"Ow!" he answers. "Would you believe I am allergic to wood?"

"Vampires!"

"Why must you kill us, my dear fellow?"

"Vampires are doomed and damned."

"All the more reason to let us go. Hell is not a very nice place," he says to the man. I feel more words in my head. "Feel free to jump in at any time, my friend."

I send a mental message back to him. "If I could speak French it could help. I don't even know why I understand this man!" "Well, I am kind of mucking about in your mind and translating for you. All the mind things and such are my speciality, you know, my friend."

They approach us at a closer proximity. "Look," I state. Licking my lips, I try to ease my anxiety and continue. "We have no argument with you people. We don't mean any harm. The woman we pursue is my wife."

"We will not let you harm that frail creature!"

"I wouldn't harm her. I love her."

Frank grasps my hands. I feel the bleeding burns from the cross against my palms. I shiver.

"Then why do you wish to force vampirism on her?"

"It wasn't my idea. I realize that vampirism is a horrible thing, but I am told there is no other way to solve her insanity."

I glance at my feet to see several rats digging at the salt there. I look up quickly to the French farmer. I must not pay attention to the rats. I must keep him talking.

"You lie. We will not let you harm that sweet young woman. She is not crazy as you say! She is the one who informed us of your evil plans."

"That black haired woman is not my wife nor is she the one we pursue. My wife casts footprints in the snow. The black haired woman does not. There is something definitely not right about her. Couldn't you feel it? Not to mention, don't you think she herself is a bit strange?"

"Then why did you pursue her here? You lie, vampire!"

The rats are done. Oh, thank God! Frank pulls me in his direction. Moving towards the crowd of people, who react by throwing Holy Water and garlic at us and burning us with crosses, Frank and I suddenly find ourselves away from the crowd and back in the catacombs. I look over my minor burns and notice that Frank took most of the beating. He sits on his knees and cradles his hurts. I want to go to him, but I am unsure how to.

He looks up at me with his pale, torn, and bleeding face. He smiles. "Thank you, my friend." He staggers to his feet and pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his wounds. "We travel the catacombs today instead of finding rest." He moves forward and collapses. I catch his body and lower him to the ground. "But, first, let me rest a little bit, my friend."

"Alright, Frank," I answer, as we sit together, both of us exhausted. After a little bit, Frank gets to his feet. He offers his hand to me. I shake my head and get up on my own. We travel the catacombs without pursuit.


End file.
